PROPHET 


L  CAINE 


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OF 

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OF  CALIFORNIA 

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The  White  Prophet 


Books  by  Hall  Caine 


My  Story 
The  Prodigal  Son 
The  Eternal  City 
The  Christian 
The  Manxman 


The  White  Prophet 

The  Deemster 

The  Bondman 

The   Scafjegoat 

The  Little  Manx  Nation 

Capt'n  Davy's  Honeymoon 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  New  York 


£5 


oil,   cliildnTi   ol  AUali 


let  us  be  men  I  '  " 


The 


White  Prophet 


A   Novel 


By  Hall   Caine 

Author  of  "The  Manxman,"   "The  Deemster,"  "The  Christian," 
"The  Eternal  City,"   "The  Prodigal  Son,"  etc. 


"  /   knciv    that    my   Redeemer  li-veth    and   that 
He  shall  stand  at  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth.'"'' 


Illustrations  bv  R.  Caton  Woodville 


New  York 

D.  Appleton  and  Company 

1909 


Copyright,  1908,  1909,  by 
HALL    C  A I N  E 


Published,  August,  1909 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 


Many  erroneous  statements  made  in  the  press 
during  the  serial  publication  of  this  story,  coup- 
ling its  characters  and  incidents  with  distin- 
guished living  persons  and  recent  public  events, 
make  it  necessary  to  say  that  ''The  WJiite  Prophet " 
is  intended  to  be  read  as  a  ivork  of  fiction  only. 

H.  C. 

Greba  Castle,  Isle  op  Man,  1909. 


CONTENTS 


FIRST   BOOK 

PAGE 

The  Crescent  and  the  Cross 3 


SECOND   BOOK 
The  Shadow  of  the  Sword 145 

THIRD   BOOK 
The  Light  of  the  World 253 

FOURTH    BOOK 
The  Coming  Day 403 

FIFTH   BOOK 
The  Dawn 495 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 

'"Oh,  children  of  Allah,  ...   let  us  be  men!'" 

Frontispiece 

"Hurled   their  spears  like  shafts   of  forked   lightning 

over  his  head" 10 

"'The  man  has  gone — gone  in  disgrace  and  shame'"     128 

"'Oh,   Allah,    Most   High,    Most   Merciful,    make   lady 

sleep!'" 160 

"'To  God  we  belong  and  to  Him  we  must  return'"     188 

'"Punish  him,   O  God,  imnish  him  I    punish  him!'"     320 

"'How  interesting!'  cried  the  ladies  in  chorus"  .       .     416 

"She   was   being  carried   into   the   silence   of  her  own 

room  " 513 


CHIEF  PERSONS   OF  THE   STORY 


I^ORD  NuNEHAM British  Agent,  Consul-General,  and 

Minister  Plenipotentiary  in  Egypt 

Lady  Nunkham Born  in  Massachusetts,  U.  S.  A. 

Colonel  Gordon  Lord,  A.A.G.   .   Son  of  Lord  and   Lady  Nuneham, 

born  and  brought  up  in  Egypt 

Major-General  Graves  ....   Commanding  the  British  Army  of 

Occupation  in  Egypt 

Helena  Graves Daughter  of  General  Graves,  born 

in  India 

Sir  Reginald  Mannering  .     .     .    Pasha,  Sirdar  of  the  Egyptian  Army, 

and  Governor-General  of  the  Sou- 
dan 

Princess  Nazimah Member  of  the  Khedivial  family 

The  Chancellor  of  the  Arabic  University  of  El  Aziiar,  Cairo 

The  Grand  Cadi From  Constantinople 

Ikhmael  Ameer,  commonly  called 

"The  White  Prophet"    .     .     .    Born  on  the  Libyan  desert,  brought 

up  in  Khartoum 


FIRST  BOOK 
THE   CKESCENT  AND  THE   CROSS 


It  was  perhaps  the  first  act  of  open  hostility,  and  there 
was  really  nothing  in  the  scene  or  circumstance  to  provoke 
an  unfriendly  demonstration. 

On  the  broad  racing-ground  of  the  Khedivial  Club  a 
number  of  the  oflBcers  and  men  of  the  British  Army  quar- 
tered in  Cairo,  assisted  by  a  detachment  of  the  soldiers  of 
the  army  of  Egypt,  had  been  giving  a  sham  fight  in  imita- 
tion of  the  Battle  of  Omdurman,  which  is  understood  to 
have  been  the  death-struggle  and  the  end  of  Mahdism. 

The  Khedive  himself  had  not  been  there — he  was  away 
at  Constantinople — and  his  box  had  stood  empty  the  whole 
afternoon;  but  a  kinsman  of  the  Khedive's,  with  a  com- 
pany of  friends,  had  occupied  the  box  adjoining,  and  Lord 
Nuneham,  the  British  Consul-General,  had  sat  in  the  centre 
of  the  grand  pavilion,  surrounded  by  all  the  great  ones 
of  the  earth,  in  a  sea  of  muslin,  flowers,  and  feathers. 
There  had  been  European  ladies  in  bright  spring  costumes, 
Sheikhs  in  flowing  robes  of  flowered  silk,  Egyptian  Minis- 
ters of  State  in  Western  dress  and  British  Advisers  and 
rnder-Secretaries  in  Eastern  tarbooshes,  ofiicers  in  gold- 
braided  uniforms,  foreign  Ambassadors,  and  an  infinite 
number  of  pashas,  beys,  and  effendis. 

Besides  these,  too,  there  had  been  a  great  crowd  of  what 
is  called  the  common  people,  chiefly  Cairenes — the  volatile, 
pleasure-loving  people  of  Cairo,  who  care  for  nothing  so 
little  as  the  atmosphere  of  political  trouble.  They  had 
stood  in  a  thick  line  around  the  arena,  all  capped  in  crim- 
son, thus  giving  to  the  vast  ellipse  the  effect  of  an  immense 
picture  framed  in  red. 

There  had  been  nothing  in  the  day,  either,  to  stimulate 
the  spirit  of  insurrection.  It  had  been  a  lazy  day,  growing 
hot  in  the  afternoon,  so  that  the  white  city  of  domes  and 

3 


4  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

minarets,  as  far  up  as  to  the  Mokattam  hills  and  the  self- 
conscious  Citadel,  had  seemed  to  palpitate  in  a  glistening 
haze,  while  the  steely  ribbon  of  the  Nile  that  ran  between 
was  reddening  in  the  rays  of  the  sunset. 

General  Graves,  an  elderly  man  with  martial  bearing, 
commanding  the  army  in  Eg:^'pt,  had  taken  his  place  as 
umpire  in  the  judge's  box  in  front  of  the  pavilion;  four 
squadrons  of  British  and  Egyptian  cavalry,  a  force  of  in- 
fantry, and  a  grunting  and  ruckling  camel  corps,  had 
marched  and  pranced  and  bumped  out  of  a  paddock  to  the 
left,  and  then  young  Colonel  Gordon  Lord,  Assistant  Ad- 
jutant-General, who  was  to  play  the  part  of  commandant  in 
the  sham  fight,  had  come  trotting  into  the  field. 

Down  to  that  moment  there  had  been  nothing  but  gaiety 
and  the  spirit  of  fun  among  the  spectators,  who  with  rip- 
ples of  merry  laughter  had  whispered  "  Lyttelton's,"  "  Wau- 
chope's,"  "  Macdonald's,"  and  ''Maxwell's,"  as  the  white- 
faced  and  yellow-faced  squadrons  had  taken  their  places. 
Then  the  General  had  rung  the  big  bell  that  was  to  be  the 
signal  for  the  beginning  of  the  battle,  a  bugle  had  been 
sounded,  and  the  people  had  pretended  to  shiver  as  they 
smiled. 

But  all  at  once  the  atmosphere  had  changed.  From 
somewhere  on  the  right  had  come  the  turn,  turn,  turn  of 
war-drums  of  the  enemy,  followed  by  the  hoom,  loom,  hoom 
of  their  war-horns,  a  melancholy  note,  half  bellow  and  half 
wail.  Then  everybody  in  the  pavilion  had  stood  up,  every- 
body's glass  had  been  out,  and  a  moment  afterwards  a  line 
of  strange  white  things  had  been  seen  fluttering  in  the  far 
distance. 

Were  they  banners?  No!  They  were  men,  they  were 
the  dervishes,  and  they  were  coming  down  in  a  deep  white 
line,  like  sheeted  ghosts  in  battle  array. 

"They're  here!"  said  the  spectators,  in  a  hushed  whis- 
per, and  from  that  moment  onward  to  the  end  there  had 
been  no  more  laughter  either  in  the  pavilion  or  in  the  dense 
line  around  the  field. 

The  dervishes  had  come  galloping  on,  a  huge,  disorderly 
horde  in  flying  white  garments,  some  of  them  black  as  ink, 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  5 

some  brown  as  bronze,  brandishing  their  glistening  spears, 
their  swords,  and  their  flint-locks,  beating  their  war-drums, 
blowing  their  war-horns,  and  shouting  in  high-pitched, 
rasping,  raucous  voices  their  war-cry  and  their  prayer, 
"Allah!  Allah!  Allah!" 

On  and  on  they  had  come,  like  champing  surf  rolling  in 
on  a  reef-bound  coast ;  on  and  on,  faster  and  faster,  louder 
and  louder,  on  and  on  until  they  had  all  but  hurled  them- 
selves into  the  British  lines,  and  then — crash!  A  sheet  of 
blinding  flashes,  a  roll  of  stifling  smoke,  and,  when  the  air 
cleared,  a  long  empty  space  in  the  front  line  of  the  der- 
vishes, and  the  ground  strewn  as  with  the  drapery  of  two 
hundred  dead  men. 

In  an  instant  the  gap  had  been  filled  and  the  mighty 
horde  had  come  on  again,  but  again  and  again,  and  yet 
again  they  had  been  swept  down  before  the  solid  rock  of 
the  British  forces  like  the  spent  waves  of  an  angry  sea. 

At  one  moment  a  flag,  silver  white  and  glistening  in  the 
sun,  had  been  seen  coming  up  behind.  It  had  seemed  to 
float  here,  there,  and  everyT\'here,  like  a  disembodied  spirit, 
through  the  churning  breakers  of  the  enemy;  and  while 
the  swarthy  Arab  who  carried  it  had  cried  out  over  the 
thunder  of  battle  that  it  was  the  angel  of  death  leading 
them  to  victory  or  Paradise,  the  dervishes  had  screamed 
"  Allah !  Allah !  "  and  poured  themselves  afresh  on  to  the 
British  lines. 

But  crash,  crash,  crash!  the  British  rifles  had  spoken, 
and  the  dervishes  had  fallen  in  long  swathes  like  grass  be- 
fore the  scythe,  until  the  broad  field  had  been  white  with 
its  harvest  of  the  dead. 

The  sham  fight  had  lasted  a  full  hour,  and  until  it  was 
over  the  vast  multitude  of  spectators  had  been  as  one  im- 
mense creature  that  trembled  without  drawing  breath.  But 
then  the  umpire's  big  bell  had  been  rung  again,  the  dead 
men  had  leaped  briskly  to  their  feet  and  scampered  back 
to  paddock,  and  a  rustling  breeze  of  laughter,  half  merri- 
ment and  half  surprise,  had  swept  over  the  pavilion  and 
the  field. 

This  was  the  moment  at  which  the  atmosphere  had 
3 


6  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

seemed  to  change.  Some  one  at  the  foot  of  the  pavilion 
had  said : 

"  Whew !     What  a  battle  it  must  have  been !  " 

And  some  one  else  had  said: 

"Don't  call  it  a  battle,  sir;  call  it  an  execution." 

And  then  a  third,  an  Englishman  in  the  uniform  of  an 
Egj-ptian   Commandant   of   Police,  had  cried: 

"  If  it  had  gone  the  other  way,  though — if  the  Mah- 
dists  had  beaten  las  that  day  at  Omdurman,  what  would 
have  happened  to  Egypt  then?" 

"  Happened  ?  "  the  first  speaker  had  answered — he  was 
the  English  Adviser  to  one  of  the  Egyptian  Ministers. 
"  What  would  have  happened  to  Egypt,  you  say  ?  Why, 
there  wouldn't  have  been  a  dog  to  howl  for  a  lost  master  by 
this  time." 

Lord  Nuneham  had  heard  the  luckless  words,  and  his 
square-hewn  jaw  had  grown  harder  and  moi'e  grim.  Unfor- 
tunately, the  Egyptian  Ministers,  the  Sheikhs,  the  pashas, 
the  beys,  and  effendis  had  heard  them  also,  and,  by  the 
mysterious  law  of  Xature  that  sends  messages  over  a  track- 
less desert,  the  last  biting  phrase  had  seemed  to  go  like  an 
electric  whisper  through  the  thick  line  of  the  red-capped 
Cairenes  around  the  arena. 

In  the  native  mind  it  altered  eveiything  in  an  instant; 
transformed  the  sham  battle  into  a  serious  incident;  made 
it  an  insult,  an  outrage,  a  prearranged  political  innuendo, 
something  got  up  by  the  British  Army  of  Occupation,  or 
perhaps  by  the  Consul-Gencral  himself,  to  rebuke  the  Egyp- 
tians for  the  fires  of  disaffection  that  had  smouldered  in 
their  midst  for  years,  and  to  say  as  by  visible  historiog- 
raphy : 

"  See,  that's  what  England  saved  Egypt  from — that 
horde  of  Allah-intoxicated  fanatics  who  would  have  cut  off 
the  heads  of  your  Khedives,  tortured  and  pillaged  your 
pashas,  flogged  your  effendis,  made  slaves  of  your  fellaheen, 
or  swept  your  whole  nation  into  the  Nile." 

Every  soldier  on  the  field  had  distinguished  himself  that 
day,  the  British  by  his  bull-dog  courage,  the  Soudanese  by 
fighting  as  dervishes  like  demons,  the  Egyptian  by  standing 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  7 

his  ground  like  a  man ;  but  not  even  when  young  Colonel 
Lord,  the  most  popular  Englishman  in  Eg-ypt,  the  one  offi- 
cer of  English  blood  who  was  beloved  by  the  Egyptians, 
not  even  when  he  had  come  riding  back  to  paddock  after  a 
masterly  handling  of  his  men,  sweating  but  smiling,  his 
horse  blowing  and  spent,  the  people  on  the  pavilion  receiv- 
ing him  with  shouts  and  cheers,  the  clapping  of  hands,  and 
the  fluttering  of  handkerchiefs — not  even  then  had  the 
Cairenes  at  the  edge  of  the  arena  made  the  faintest  demon- 
stration. Their  opportunity  came  a  few  minutes  later,  and, 
sullen  and  grim  under  the  gall  of  their  unfounded  suspi- 
cion, they  seized  it  in  fierce  and  rather  ugly  fashion. 

Hardly  had  the  last  man  left  the  field  when  a  company 
of  mounted  police  came  riding  down  the  fringe  of  it,  fol- 
lowed by  a  carriage  drawn  by  two  high-stepping  horses,  be- 
tween a  bodyguard  of  Egyptian  soldiers.  They  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  box  occupied  by  the  kinsman  of  the  Khedive, 
and  instantly  the  Cairenes  made  a  rush  for  it,  besieging 
the  barrier  on  either  side,  and  even  clambering  on  each 
other's  shoulders  as  human  scaflFolding,  from  which  to  wit- 
ness the  departure  of  the  Prince. 

Then  the  Prince  came  out,  a  rather  slack,  feeble,  inef- 
fectual-looking man,  and  there  were  the  ordinary  saluta- 
tions prescribed  by  custom.  First  the  cry  from  the  police 
in  Turkish  and  in  unison,  "  Long  live  our  Master ! "  being 
cheers  for  the  Khedive  whose  representative  the  Prince  was, 
and  then  a  cry  in  Arabic  for  the  Prince  himself.  The 
Prince  touched  his  forehead,  stepped  into  his  carriage,  and 
was  about  to  drive  off  when,  without  sign  or  premeditation 
— by  one  of  those  mischievous  impulses  which  the  devil 
himself  inspires — there  came  a  third  cry,  never  heard  on 
that  ground  before.  In  a  lusty,  guttural  voice,  a  young 
man  standing  on  the  shoulders  of  another  man — both,  ap- 
parently, students  of  law  or  medicine — shouted  over  the 
heads  of  the  people,  "  Long  live  Egypt !  "  and  in  an  in- 
stant the  cry  was  repeated  in  a  deafening  roar  from  every 
side. 

The  Prince  signalled  to  his  bodyguard  and  his  carriage 
started,   but   all   the  way   down  the  line   of   the   enclosure. 


S  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

where  the  red-hatted  Egyptians  were  still  standing  in  solid 
masses,  the  words   cracked  along  like   fireworks  set  alight. 

The  people  on  the  great  pavilion  watched  and  listened, 
and  to  the  larger  part  of  them,  who  were  British  subjects, 
and  to  the  officers.  Advisers,  and  Under-Secretaries,  who 
were  British  officials,  the  cry  was  like  a  challenge  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  Go  home  to  England ;  we  are  a  nation  of 
ourselves  and  can  do  without  you."  For  a  moment  the  air 
tingled  with  expectancy,  and  everybody  knew  that  some- 
thing else  was  going  to  happen.  It  happened  instantly, 
with  that  promptness  which  the  devil  alone  contrives. 

Almost  as  soon  as  the  Prince's  company  had  cleared 
away,  a  second  carriage,  that  of  the  British  Consul-General, 
came  down  the  line  to  the  pavilion,  with  a  posse  of  native 
police  on  either  side  and  a  sais  running  in  front.  Then 
from  his  seat  in  the  centre  Lord  Nuneham  rose  and  stepped 
down  to  the  arena,  shaking  hands  with  people  as  he  passed, 
gallant  to  the  ladies  as  befits  an  English  gentleman,  but 
bearing  himself  with  a  certain  brusque  condescension  to- 
ward the  men,  all  trying  to  attract  his  attention — a  medium- 
sized  yet  massive  person,  with  a  stern  jaw  and  steady  gray 
eyes,  behind  which  the  cool  brain  was  plainly  packed  in  ice, 
a  man  of  iron  who  had  clearly  passed  through  the  pathway 
of  life  with  a  firm  high  step. 

The  posse  of  native  police  cleared  a  way  for  him,  and, 
under  the  orders  of  an  officer,  rendered  military  honours, 
but  that  was  not  enough  for  the  British  contingent  in  the 
fever  of  their  present  excitement.  They  called  for  three 
cheers  for  the  King,  whose  representative  the  Consul-Gen- 
eral was  in  Egypt,  and  then  three  more  for  Lord  Nuneham, 
giving,  not  three,  but  six,  with  a  fierceness  that  grew  more 
frantic  at  every  shout,  and  seemed  to  say,  as  plainly  as 
words  could  speak,  "  Here  we  are  and  here  we  stay." 

The  Eg>'ptians  listened  in  silence,  some  of  them  spit- 
ting as  a  sign  of  contempt,  until  the  last  cheer  was  dying 
down,  and  then  the  lusty,  guttural  voice  cried  again, 
"  Long  live  Egypt !  "  and  once  more  the  words  rang  like  a 
rip-rap  down  the  line. 

It  was  noticed  that  the  stern  expression  of  Lord  Nune- 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  9 

ham's  face  assumed  a  death-like  rigidity,  that  he  took  out 
a  pocket-book,  wrote  some  words,  tore  away  a  leaf,  handed 
it  to  a  native  servant,  and  then,  with  an  icy  smile,  stepped 
into  his  carriage.  Meantime  the  British  contingent  were 
cheering  again  with  yet  more  deafening  clamour,  and  the 
rolling  sound  followed  the  Consul-General  as  he  drove  away. 
But  the  shout  of  the  Egyptians  followed  him,  too ;  and  when 
he  reached  the  high  road  the  one  was  like  muffled  drums 
at  a  funeral  far  behind,  while  the  other  was  like  the  sharp 
crack  of  Maxim  guns  that  were  always  firing  by  his  side. 
The  sea  of  muslin,  ribbons,  flowers,  and  feathers  in  the 
pavilion  had  broken  up  by  this  time;  the  light  was  striking 
level  in  people's  eyes,  the  west  was  crimsoning  with  sunset 
tints,  the  city  was  red  on  the  tips  of  its  minarets  and  ablaze 
on  the  bare  face  of  its  insurgent  hills,  and  the  Nile  itself, 
taking  the  colouring  of  the  sky,  was  lying  like  an  old  ser- 
pent of  immense  size  which  had  stretched  itself  along  the 
sand  to  sleep. 


n 

General  Graves's  daughter  had  been  at  the  sports  that 
day,  sitting  in  the  chair  immediately  behind  Lord  Nune- 
ham's.  Her  name  was  Helena,  and  she  was  a  fine,  hand- 
some girl  in  the  early  twenties,  with  coal-black  hair,  very 
dark  eyes,  a  speaking  face,  and  a  smile  like  eternal  sunshine, 
well  grown,  splendidly  developed,  and  carrying  herself  in 
perfect  equipoise  with  natural  grace  and  a  certain  swing 
when  she  walked. 

Helena  Graves  was  to  marry  Lord  Nuneham's  son.  Colo- 
nel Gordon  Lord,  and  during  the  progress  of  the  sham 
fight  she  had  had  eyes  for  nobody  else.  She  had  watched 
him  when  he  had  entered  the  field,  sitting  solid  on  his  Irish 
horse,  which  was  stepping  high  and  snorting  audibly;  when 
at  the  "  Fire !  "  he  had  stood  behind  the  firing  line,  and  at 
the  "  Cease  fire ! "  galloped  in  front ;  when  he  had  threaded 
his  forces  round  and  round,  north,  south,  and  west,  in  and 
out  as  in  a  dance,  so  that  they  faced  the  enemy  on  every 


10  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

side;  when  somebody  had  blundered  and  his  cavalry  had 
been  caught  in  a  trap,  and  he  had  had  to  ride  without  sword 
or  revolver  through  a  clovid  of  dark  heads  that  had  sprung 
up  as  if  out  of  the  ground;  and,  above  all,  when  his  horse 
had  stumbled  and  he  had  fallen,  and  the  dei-vishes,  forget- 
ting that  the  battle  was  not  a  real  one,  had  hurled  their 
spears  like  shafts  of  forked  lightning  over  his  head.  At 
that  moment  she  had  forgotten  all  about  the  high  society 
gathered  in  a  brilliant  throng  around  her,  and  had  clutched 
the  Consid-General's  chair  convulsively,  breathing  so  audi- 
bly that  he  had  heard  her,  and,  lowering  the  glasses  through 
which  he  had  watched  the  distant  scene,  had  patted  her 
arm  and  said: 

"  lie's  safe — don't  be  afraid,  my  child !  " 

When  the  fight  was  over  her  eyes  were  radiant,  her 
cheeks  were  like  a  conflagration,  and,  notwithstanding  the 
ugly  incident  attending  the  departure  of  the  Prince  and 
Lord  Nuneham,  her  face  was  full  of  a  triumphant  joy  as 
she  stepped  down  to  the  green,  where  Colonel  Lord,  who 
was  waiting  for  her,  put  on  her  motor  cloak — she  had  come 
in  her  automobile — and  helped  her  to  fix  the  ligrht  veil, 
which  in  her  excitement  had  fallen  back  from  her  hat  and 
showed  that  she  was  still  blushing  up  to  the  roots  of  her 
black  hair. 

Splendid  creature  as  she  was.  Colonel  Lord  was  a  match 
for  her.  lie  was  one  of  the  youngest  colonels  in  the  British 
Army,  being  four-and-thirty,  of  more  than  medium  height, 
with  crisp  brown  hair,  and  eyes  of  the  flickering,  steel-like 
blue  that  is  common  among  enthusiastic  natures,  especially 
when  they  are  soldiers — a  man  of  unmistakable  masculinity, 
yet  with  that  vague  suggestion  of  the  woman  about  him 
which,  sometimes  seen  in  a  manly  face,  makes  one  say,  with- 
out knowing  any  of  the  circumstances,  "  That  man  is  like 
his  mother,  and  whatever  her  ruling  passion  is,  his  own 
will  be,  only  stronger,  more  daring,  and  perhaps  more 
dangerous." 

"  They're  a  lovely  pair,"  the  women  were  saying  of  them 
as  they  stood  together;  and  soon  they  were  surrounded  by 
a    group    of    peojile,    some    complimenting    Helena,    others 


[Page  10.; 

"  Hurled  their  spears  like  shafts  of  forked  lightning  over 

his  head." 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  H 

congratulating  Gordon,  all  condemning  the  demonstration 
which  had  cast  a  certain  gloom  over  the  concluding  scene. 

"  It  was  too  exciting,  too  fascinating,  but  how  shameful 
that  conduct  of  the  natives!  It  w^as  just  like  a  premedi- 
tated insult,"  said  a  fashionable  lady,  a  visitor  to  Cairo; 
and  then  an  Englishman — it  was  the  Adviser  who  had 
spoken  the  first  unlucky  words — said,  promptly: 

"  So  it  was — it  must  have  been.  Didn't  you  see  how  it 
was  all  done  at  a  preconcerted  signal  ? " 

"  I'm  not  surprised.  I've  always  said  we  English  in 
Egypt  are  living  on  the  top  of  a  volcano,"  said  a  small, 
slack,  gray-headed  man,  a  judge  in  the  native  courts;  and 
then  the  Commandant  of  Police,  a  somewhat  pompous  per- 
son, said,   bitterly: 

"  We  saved  their  country  from  bankruptcy,  their  backs 
from  the  lash,  and  their  stomachs  from  starvation,  and  now 
listen :  *  Long  live  Egypt ! '  " 

At  that  moment  a  rather  effusive  American  lady  came 
up  to  Helena  and  said: 

"Don't  you  ever  recognise  your  friends,  dear?  I  tried 
to  catch  your  eye  during  the  fight,  but  a  certain  officer  had 
fallen,  and,  of  course,  nobody  else  existed  in  the  world." 

"  Let  us  make  up  our  minds  to  it — we  are  not  liked,'' 
the  judge  was  saying.  "  N^aturally  we  were  popular  as  long 
as  we  were  plastering  the  wounds  made  by  tyrannical  mas- 
ters; but  the  masters  are  dead  and  the  patient  is  better, 
so  the  doctor  is  found  to  be  a  bore." 

At  that  moment  an  Egyptian  Princess,  famous  for  her 
wit  and  daring,  came  down  the  pavilion  steps.  She  was  one 
of  the  few  Egyptian  women  w^ho  frequented  mixed  society 
and  went  about  with  uncovered  face — a  large  person,  with 
plump,  pallid  cheeks,  very  voluble,  outspoken,  and  quick- 
tempered, a  friend  and  admirer  of  the  Consul-General's, 
and  a  champion  of  the  English  rule.  Making  straight  for 
Helena,   she  said : 

"  Goodness,  child,  is  it  your  face  I  see  or  the  light  of 
the  moon?  The  battle?  Oh,  yes,  it  was  beautiful,  but  it 
M-as  terrible,  and  thank  the  Lord,  it  is  over.  But  tell  me 
about  yourself,  dear.    You  are  desperately  in  love,  they  say. 


12  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

and  no  wonder.  I'm  in  love  with  him  myself,  I  really  am, 
and  if  .  ,  ,  Oh,  you're  there,  are  j'ou?  Well,  I'm  telling 
Helena  I'm  in  love  with  you.  Such  strength,  such  courage 
— pluch  you  call  it,  don't  you?" 

Helena  had  turned  to  answer  the  American  lady,  and 
Gordon,  whose  eyes  had  been  on  her  as  if  waiting  for  her 
to  speak,  whispered  to   the  Princess: 

"  Isn't  she  looking  lovely  to-day.  Princess  ? " 

"  Then  why  don't  you  tell  her  so  ? "  said  the  Princess. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Gordon,  whereupon  the  Princess  said : 

"  My  goodness,  what  ridiculous  creatures  men  are ! 
What  cowards,  too!  As  brave  as  lions  before  a  horde  of 
savages,  but  before  a  woman — mon  Dieu!" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  judge,  in  his  slow,  shrill  voice,  "  they 
are  fond  of  talking  of  the  old  book  of  Egypt,  yet  the  valley 
of  the  Nile  is  strewn  with  the  tombs  of  Egyptians  who  have 
perished  under  their  hard  task-masters,  from  the  Pharaohs 
to  the  pashas.  Can't  they  hear  the  murmur  of  the  past 
about  them?  Have  they  no  memory  if  they  have  no  grati- 
tude ? " 

At  the  last  words  General  Graves  came  up  to  the  group, 
looking  hot  and  excited,  and  he  said: 

"  Memory  ?  Gratitude  ?  They're  a  nation  of  ingrates 
and  fools." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  the  Princess. 

"Pardon  me.  Princess.  I  say  the  demonstration  of  your 
countrymen  to-day  is  an  example  of  the  grossest  ingrati- 
tude." 

"You're  quite  right,  General.  But  ma'aleysh!  (no  mat- 
ter).    The  barking  of  dogs  doesn't  hurt  the  clouds." 

"  And  who  are  the  dogs  in  this  instance.  Princess  ?  "  said 
a  thin-faced  Turco-Egyptian  with  a  heavy  moustache,  who 
had  been  congratulating  Colonel  Lord. 

"  Your  Turco-Egyptian  beauties,  who  would  set  the 
country  ablaze  to  light  their  cigarettes,"  said  the  Princess. 
"  Children  I  call  them.  Children,  and  they  deserve  the  rod. 
Yes,  the  rod,  and  serve  them  right.  Excuse  the  word.  I 
know!     I  tell  you  plainly,  pasha." 

"And   the  clouds  are  the   Consul-General,   I  suppose?" 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  13 

"Certainly;  and  he's  so  much  above  them  that  they 
can't  even  see  he's  the  sun  in  their  sky,  the  stupids." 

Whereupon  the  pasha,  who  was  the  Egyptian  Prime 
Minister  under  a  British  Adviser,  said,  with  a  shrug  and 
a  dubious  smile: 

"  Your  sentiments  are  beautiful,  but  your  similes  are  a 
little  broken.  Princess." 

"  Xot  half  so  much  broken  as  your  Treasury  would  have 
been  if  the  English  hadn't  helped  it,"  said  the  Princess; 
and  when  the  pasha  had  gone  off  with  a  rather  halting 
laugh,  she  said : 

'^  Ma^aleysh!  When  angels  come  the  devils  take  their 
leave.  I  don't  care.  I  say  what  I  think.  I  tell  the  Egyp- 
tians the  English  are  the  best  friends  Egypt  ever  had,  and 
Nunehnm  is  their  greatest  ruler  since  the  days  of  Joseph. 
But  Adam  himself  wasn't  satisfied  with  Paradise,  and  it's 
no  use  talking.  '  Don't  throw  stones  into  the  well  you  drink 
from,'  I  say.  But  serve  you  right,  you  English.  You 
shouldn't  have  come.  He  who  builds  on  another's  land 
brings  up  another's  child.  Everybody  is  excited  about  this 
sedition,  and  even  the  harem  are  asking  what  the  Govern- 
ment is  going  to  do.  Xuneham  knows  best,  though.  Leave 
him  alone.  He'll  deal  with  these  half-educated  upstarts. 
Upstarts — that's  what  I  call  them.  Oh,  I  know!  I  speak 
plainly !  " 

"  I  agree  with  the  Princess,"  chimed  the  judge.  "  What 
is  this  unrest  among  the  Egyptians  due  to?  The  education 
we  ourselves  have  given  them." 

"  Yes ;  teach  your  dog  to  snap,  and  he'll  soon  bite  you." 

"  These  are  the  tares  in  the  harvest  we  are  reaping,  and 
perhaps  our  Western  grain  doesn't  suit  this  Eastern  desert." 

"  Should  think  it  doesn't,  indeed.  '  Liberty,'  '  Equality,' 
'  Fraternity,'  '  Representative  Institutions  '  !  If  you  Eng- 
lish come  talking  this  nonsense  to  the  Egyptians  what  can 
you  expect?  Socialism,  is  it?  Well,  if  I  am  to  be  Prince 
and  you  are  to  be  Prince,  who  is  to  drive  the  donkey?  Ex- 
cuse the  word !  I  know !  I  tell  you  plainly.  Good-bye,  my 
dear!  You  are  looking  perfect  to-day.  But  then  you  are 
so  happy.  I  can  see  when  young  people  are  in  love  by  their 
3 


14  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

eyes,  and  yours  are  shining  like  moons.  After  all,  your 
Western  waj-s  are  best.  We  choose  the  husbands  for  our 
girls,  thinking  the  silly  things  don't  know  what  is  good  for 
them,  and  the  chicken  isn't  ATiser  than  the  hen;  but  it's  the 
young*  people,  not  the  old  ones,  who  have  to  live  together, 
so  why  shouldn't  they  choose  for  themselves  ? " 

At  that  instant  there  passed  from  some  remote  comer 
of  the  grounds  a  brougham  containing  two  shrouded  figures 
in  close  white  veils,  and  the  Princess  said : 

"  Look  at  that,  now — that  relic  of  barbarism !  Shutting 
our  women  up  like  canaries  in  a  cage,  while  their  men  are 
enjoying  the  sunshine.  Life  is  a  dancing  girl — let  her 
dance  a  little  for  all  of  us." 

The  Princess  was  about  to  go,  when  General  Graves  ap- 
pealed to  her.     The  judge  had  been  saying: 

"  I  should  call  it  a  religious  rather  than  a  political  un- 
rest. You  may  do  what  you  will  for  the  Moslem;  but  he 
never  forgets  that  the  hand  which  bestows  his  benefits  is 
that  of  an  infidel." 

"  Yes,  we're  aliens  here,  there's  no  getting  over  it,"  said 
the  Adviser. 

And  the  General  said :  "  Especially  when  professional 
fanatics  are  always  reminding  the  Egyptians  that  we  are 
not  Mohammedans.  By  the  way.  Princess,  have  you  heard 
of  the  new  preacher,  the  new  prophet,  the  new  Mahdi,  as 
they  say  ? " 

"  Prophet !     Mahdi !     Another  of  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  comet  that  has  just  appeared  in  the  firma- 
ment of  Alexandria." 

"  Some  holy  man,  I  suppose.  Oh,  I  know !  Holy  man, 
indeed !  Shake  hands  with  him  and  count  your  rings,  Gen- 
eral! Another  impostor  riding  on  the  people's  backs — and 
they  can't  see  it,  the  stupids !  But  the  camel  never  can  see 
his  hiunp — not  he!  Good-bye,  girl.  Get  married  soon,  and 
keep  together  as  long  as  you  can.  Stretch  your  legs  to  the 
length  of  your  bed,  my  dear;  why  shouldn't  you?  Say 
good-bye  to  Gordon?     Certainly;  where  is  he?" 

At  that  moment  Gordon  was  listening,  with  head  down, 
to  something  the  General  was  saying  with  intense  feeling. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  15 

"  The  only  way  to  deal  with  religious  impostors  who  sow 
disaffection  among  the  people  is  to  suppress  them  with  a 
strong  hand.  Why  not?  Fear  of  their  followers?  They're 
fit  for  nothing  but  to  pray  in  their  mosques,  '  Away  with, 
the  English,  O  Lord,  but  give  us  water  in  due  measure ! ' 
Fight?  Not  for  an  instant.  There  isn't  an  ounce  of  cour- 
age in  a  hundred  of  them,  and  a  score  of  good  soldiers  would 
sweep  all  the  native  Egyptians  of  Alexandria  into  the  sea.'* 

Then  Gordon,  who  had  not  yet  spoken,  lifted  his  head 
and  answered,  in  a  rather  nervous  voice: 

"  No,  no,  no,  sir !  Ill  usage  may  have  made  these  people 
cowards  in  the  old  days,  but  proper  treatment  since  has 
made  them  men,  and  there  wasn't  an  Egyptian  fellah  on 
the  field  to-day  who  wouldn't  have  followed  me  into  the 
jaws  of  death  if  I  had  told  him  to.  As  for  our  being  aliens- 
in  religion  " — the  nervous  voice  became  louder,  and  at  the 
same  time  more  tremulous — "  that  isn't  everything.  "We're 
aliens  in  sympathy  and  brotherhood,  and  even  in  common, 
courtesy  as  well.  What  is  the  honest  truth  about  us?  Here 
we  are  to  help  the  Egyptians  to  regenerate  their  country, 
yet  we  neither  eat  nor  drink  nor  associate  with  them.  How 
can  we  hope  to  win  their  hearts  while  we  hold  them  at  ann's 
length  ?  We've  given  them  water — yes,  water  in  abundance, 
but  have  we  given  them — love  ?  " 

The  woman  in  Gordon  had  leaped  out  before  he  knew  it, 
and  he  had  swung  a  little  aside  as  if  ashamed,  while  the 
men  cleared  their  throats,  and  the  Pi-incess,  notwithstand- 
ing that  she  had  been  abusing  her  own  people,  suddenly 
melted  in  the  eyes,  muttered  to  herself,  "  Oh,  our  God !  " 
and  then,  reaching  over  to  kiss  Helena,  whispered  in  her 
ear: 

"  You've  got  the  best  of  the  bunch,  my  dear,  and  if 
England  would  only  send  us  a  few  more  of  his  sort  we 
should  hear  less  of  '  Long  live  Egypt ! '  Now,  General,  you. 
can  see  me  to  my  carriage  if  you  would  like  to.  By-bye, 
young  people ! " 

At  that  moment  the  native  servant  to  whom  the  Consul- 
General  had  given  the  note  came  up  and  gave  it  to  Gordon,, 
who  read  it  and  then  handed  it  to  Helena.     It  ran: 


16  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Come  to  me  immediately.  Have  something  to  say  to 
you.-X." 

"  We'll  drive  you  to  the  Agency  in  the  car,"  said  Helena, 
and  they  moved  away  together. 

In  a  crowded  lane  at  the  back  of  the  pavilion  people 
were  clamouring  for  their  carriages,  and  complaining  of 
the  idleness  and  even  rudeness  of  the  Arab  runners,  but 
Helena's  automobile  was  brought  up  instantly,  and  when  it 
was  moving  off  with  the  General  inside,  Helena  at  the 
wheel  and  Gordon  by  her  side,  the  natives  touched  their 
foreheads  to  the  colonel  and  said,  '^  Bismillah !  ^^ 

As  soon  as  the  car  was  clear  away  and  Gordon  was  alone 
with  Helena  for  the  first  time,  there  was  one  of  those  pri- 
vateering passages  of  love  between  them  which  lovers  know 
how  to  smuggle  through,  even  in  public  and  the  eye  of  day. 

"  Well !  " 

"  Well !  " 

"  Everybody  has  been  saying  the  sweetest  things  to  me 
and  you've  never  yet  uttered  a  word." 

"  Did  you  really  expect  me  to  speak — there — before  all 
those  people  ?    But  it  was  splendid — glorious — magnificent  I  " 

And  then,  the  steering-wheel  notwithstanding,  her 
gauntleted  left  hand  went  down  to  w'here  his  right  hand  was 
waiting  for  it. 

Crossing  the  iron  bridge  over  the  river,  they  drew  vip 
at  the  British  Agency,  a  large,  ponderous,  uninspired  edi- 
fice, with  its  ambuscaded  back  to  the  city  and  its  defiant 
front  to  the  Xile,  and  there,  as  Gordon  got  down,  the  Gen- 
eral, who  still  looked  hot  and  excited,  said : 

"  You'll  dine  with  us  to-night,  my  boy — usual  hour,  you 
know." 

"  With    pleasure,    sir,"    said    Gordon,    and    then   Helena 
leaned  over  and  whispered : 
.  "  May  I  guess  what  your  father  is  going  to  talk  about? " 

"  The  demonstration  ?  " 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  What,  then  ?  " 

"  The  new  prophet  at  Alexandria." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Gordon,  and  with  a  wave  of  the  hand 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  17 

he  disappeared  behind  a  screen  of  purple  blossoms  as 
Helena  and  the  General  faced  home. 

Their  way  lay  up  through  the  old  city,  where  groups  of 
aggressive  young-  students,  at  sight  of  the  General's  gold- 
laced  cap,  started  afresh  the  Kentish  fire  of  their  "Long 
live  Egypt !  "  Up  and  up  until  they  reached  the  threaten- 
ing old  fortress  on  the  spur  of  the  Mokattam  hills,  and  then 
through  the  iron-clamped  gates  to  the  wide  courtyard  where 
the  mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali,  with  its  spiky  minarets, 
stands  on  the  edge  of  the  ramparts  like  a  cock  getting  ready 
to  crow,  and  drew  up  at  the  gate  of  a  heavy-lidded  house 
which  looks  sleepily  down  on  the  city,  the  sinuous  Nile,  the 
sweeping  desert,  the  preponderating  pyramids,  and  the  last 
saluting  of  the  sun.  Then,  as  Helena  rose  from  her  seat, 
she  saw  that  the  General's  head  had  fallen  back  and  his 
face,  was  scarlet. 

"  Father,  you  are  ill." 

"  Only  a  little  faint — I'll  be  better  presently." 

But  he  stumbled  in  stepping  out  of  the  car,  and  Helena 
said :  • 

"  You  are  ill  and  you  must  go  to  bed  immediately,  and 
let  me  put  Gordon  off  until  to-morrow." 

"  No ;  let  him  come.  I  want  to  hear  what  the  Consul- 
General  had  to  say  to  him." 

In  spite  of  himself  he  had  to  go  to  bed,  though,  and  half 
an  hour  later,  having  given  him  a  sedative,  Helena  was 
saying: 

"  You've  over-excited  yourself  again,  father.  You  were 
anxious  about  Gordon  when  his  horse  fell  and  those  abom- 
inable spears  were  flying  about." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  knew  he  would  come  out  all  right. 
The  fighting  devil  isn't  civilised  out  of  the  British  blood 
yet,  thank  God!  But  those  Egyptians  at  the  end — the  in- 
grates !  the  dastards !  " 

"Father!" 

"  Oh,  I  am  calm  enough  now — don't  be  afraid,  girl.  I 
was  sorry  to  hear  Gordon  standing  up  for  them,  though.  A 
soldier  every  inch  of  him,  but  how  unlike  his  father! 
Never  saw  father  and  son  so  different.     Yet  so  much  alike. 


18  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

too !  Fighting  men,  both  of  them.  Hope  to  goodness  they'll 
never  come  to  grips.  Heavens !  that  would  be  a  bad  day 
for  all  of  lis.'' 

And  then,  drowsily,  under  the  influence  of  the  medi- 
cine: 

"  I  wonder  what  Nuneham  wanted  with  Gordon  ?  Some- 
thing about  those  graceless  tarbooshes,  I  suppose.  He'll 
make  them  smart  for  what  they've  done  to-day.  Wonder- 
ful man,  Xuneham!     Wonderful!" 


ni 

John  Xuneham  was  the  elder  son  of  a  financier  of  whose 
earlier  life  little  or  nothing  was  ever  learned.  What  was 
known  of  his  later  life  was  that  he  had  amassed  a  fortune 
by  Colonial  speculation,  bought  a  London  newspaper,  and 
been  made  a  baronet  for  services  to  his  political  party. 
Having  no  inclination  toward  journalism,  the  son  became 
a  soldier,  rose  quickly  to  the  rank  of  brevet-major,  served 
several  years  with  his  regiment  abroad,  and  at  six-and- 
twenty  went  to  India  as  private  secretary  to  the  Viceroy, 
who,  quickly  recognising  his  natural  tendency,  transferred 
him  to  the  administrative  side  and  put  him  on  the  financial 
staff.  There  he  spent  five  years  with  conspicuous  success, 
obtaining  rapid  promotion  and  being  frequently  mentioned 
in  the  Viceroy's  reports  to  the  Foreigii  Minister. 

Then  his  father  died,  without  leaving  a  will,  as  the  cable 
of  the  solicitors  informed  him,  and  he  returned  to  Eng- 
land to  administer  the  estate.  Here  a  thunderbolt  fell  on 
him,  for  he  found  a  younger  brother,  with  whom  he  had 
nothing  in  common  and  had  never  lived  at  peace,  prepar- 
ing to  dispute  his  right  to  his  father's  title  and  fortune  on 
the  assumption  that  he  was  illegitimate — that  is  to  say,  was 
born  before  the  date  of  the  marriage  of  his  parents. 

The  allegation  proved  to  be  only  too  well  founded,  and 
as  soon  as  the  elder  brother  had  recovered  from  the  shock 
of  the  truth  he  appealed  to  the  younger  one  to  leave  things 
as  they  found  them. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  *        19 

"  After  all,  a  man's  eldest  son  is  his  eldest  son ;  let  mat- 
ters rest,"  he  urged,  but  his  brother  was  obdurate, 

"  Nobody  knows  what  the  circumstances  may  have  been. 
Is  there  no  ground  of  agreement  I  "  But  his  brother  could 
see  none. 

"You  can  take  the  inheritance,  if  that's  what  you  want; 
but  let  me  find  a  way  to  keep  the  title,  so  as  to  save  the 
family  and  avoid  scandal."     But  his  brother  was  unyielding. 

"  For  our  father's  sake.  It  is  not  for  a  man's  sons  to 
rake  up  the  dead  past  of  his  forgotten  life."  But  the 
younger  brother  could   not  be  stirred. 

"  For  our  mother's  sake.  Xobody  wants  his  mother's 
good  name  to  be  smirched — least  of  all  when  she's  in  her 
grave."     But  the  younger  brother  remained  unmoved. 

"  I  promise  never  to  marry.  The  title  shall  en^  with  me. 
It  shall  return  to  you  or  to  your  children."  But  the 
younger  brother  would  not  listen. 

"  England  is  the  only  Christian  country  in  the  world  in 
which  a  man's  son  is  not  always  his  son.  For  God's  sake, 
let  me  keep  my  father's  name ! " 

"  It  is  mine,  and  mine  alone,"  said  the  younger  brother, 
and  then  a  heavy  and  solitary  tear,  the  last  he  was  to  shed 
for  forty  years,  dropped  slowly  down  John  iSTuneham's 
hard-drawn  face,  for  at  that  instant  the  well  of  his  heart 
ran  dry. 

"  As  you  will,"  he  said.  "  But  if  it  is  your  pride  that 
is  doing  this  I  shall  humble  it,  and  if  it  is  your  greed  I 
shall  live  long  enough  to  make  it  ashamed." 

From  that  day  forward  he  dedicated  his  life  to  one  ob- 
ject only,  the  founding  of  a  family  that  should  far  eclipse 
the  family  of  his  brother,  and  his  first  step  toward  that 
end  was  to  drop  his  father's  surname  in  the  register  of  his 
regiment  and  assume  his  mother's  name  of  Lord. 

At  that  moment  England,  with  two  other  European 
Powers,  had,  like  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego,  en- 
tered the  fiery  furnace  of  Egyptian  affairs,  though  not  so 
much  to  withstand  as  to  protect  the  worship  of  the  golden 
image.  A  line  of  Khedives,  each  seeking  his  own  advan- 
tage, had  culminated  in  one  more  unscrupulous  and  tyran- 


20  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

nical  than  the  rest,  ■who  had  seized  the  lands  of  the  people, 
borrowed  money  upon  them  in  Europe,  wasted  it  in  wicked 
personal  extravagance,  as  well  as  in  reckless  imperial  ex- 
penditure that  had  not  yet  had  time  to  yield  a  return,  and 
thus  brought  the  country  to  the  brink  of  ruin,  with  the  result 
that  England  was  left  alone  at  last  to  occupy  Egypt,  much 
as  Rome  occupied  Palestine,  and  to  find  a  man  to  administer 
her  affairs  in  a  position  analogous  to  that  of  Pontius  Pilate. 
It  found  him  in  John  Lord,  the  young  financial  secretary 
who  had  distinguished  himself  in  India. 

His  task  was  one  of  immense  difficulty,  for,  though  nom- 
inally no  more  than  the  British  Consul-General,  he  was 
really  the  ruler  of  the  country,  being  representative  of  the 
sovereign  whose  soldiers  held  Egypt  in  their  grip.  Eealis- 
ing  at  once  that  he  was  the  official  receiver  to  a  bankrupt 
nation,  he  saw  that  his  first  duty  was  to  make  it  solvent. 
He  did  make  it  solvent.  In  less  than  five  years  Egypt  was 
able  to  pay  her  debt  to  Europe.  Therefore  Europe  was  sat- 
isfied, England  was  pleased,  and  John  Lord  was  made 
Knight  of  the  Order  of  St.  Michael  and  St.  George. 

Then  he  married  a  New  England  girl  whom  he  had  met 
in  Cairo,  daughter  of  a  Federal  General  in  the  Civil  War, 
a  gentle  creature,  rather  delicate,  a  little  sentimental,  and 
very  religious. 

During  the  first  years  their  marriage  was  childless,  and 
the  wife,  seeing  with  a  woman's  sure  eyes  that  her  hus- 
band's hope  had  been  for  a  child,  began  to  live  within  her- 
self and  to  weep  when  no  one  could  see.  But  at  last  a  child 
came  and  it  was  a  son,  and  she  was  overjoyed  and  the 
Consul-General  was  content.  He  allowed  her  to  christen 
the  child  by  what  name  she  pleased,  so  she  gave  him  the 
name  of  her  great  Christian  hero,  Charles  George  Gordon, 
They  called  the  boy  Gordon,  and  the  little  mother  was  very 
happy. 

But  her  health  became  still  more  delicate,  so  a  nurse  had 
to  be  looked  for,  and  they  found  one  in  an  Egyptian  woman 
— with  a  child  of  her  own — who,  by  power  of  a  pernicious 
law  of  Mohammedan  countries,  had  been  divorced  through 
no  fault  of  hers,  at  the  whim  of  a  husband  who  wished  to 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  21 

marry  another  wife.  Thus  Ilagar,  with  her  little  Ishmael, 
became  foster-mother  to  the  Consul-General's  son,  and  the 
two  children  were  suckled  together  and  slept  in  the  same  cot. 

Years  passed,  during  which  the  boy  grew  up  like  a  little 
Arab  in  the  Englishman's  house,  while  his  mother  devoted 
herself  more  and  more  to  the  exercises  of  her  religion,  and 
his  father,  without  failing  in  affectionate  attention  to 
either  of  them,  seemed  to  bury  his  love  for  both  too  deep  in 
his  heart  and  to  seal  it  with  a  seal,  although  the  Egyptian 
nurse  was  sometimes  startled  late  at  night  by  seeing  the 
Consul-General  coming  noiselessly  into  her  room  before 
going  to  his  own,  to  see  if  it  was  well  with  his  child. 

Meantime,  as  ruler  of  Egypt,  the  Consul-General  wa3 
going  from  strength  to  strength,  and,  seeing  that  the  Nile 
is  the  most  wonderful  river  in  the  world  and  the  father  of 
the  country  through  which  it  flows,  he  determined  that  it 
should  do  more  than  moisten  the  lips  of  the  Egyptian  desert 
v/hile  the  vast  body  lay  parched  with  thirst.  Therefore  he 
took  engineers  up  to  the  fork  of  the  stream  where  the  clear 
and  crystal  Blue  Nile  of  Khartoum,  tumbling  down  in 
mighty  torrents  from  the  volcanic  gorges  of  the  Abyssinian 
hills,  crosses  the  slow  and  sluggish  White  Nile  of  Omdur- 
man,  and  told  them  to  build  dams,  so  that  the  water  should 
not  be  wasted  into  the  sea,  but  spread  over  the  arid  land, 
leaving  the  glorious  sun  of  Egypt  to  do  the  rest. 

The  effect  was  miraculous.  Nature,  the  great  wonder- 
worker, had  come  to  his  aid,  and  never  since  the  Spirit  of 
God  first  moved  upon  the  face  of  the  waters  had  anj'thing  so 
marvellous  been  seen.  The  barren  earth  brought  forth  grass 
and  the  desert  blossomed  like  a  rose.  Land  values  in- 
creased ;  revenues  were  enlarged ;  poor  men  became  rich ; 
rich  men  became  millionaires;  Egypt  became  a  part  of 
Europe;  Cairo  became  a  European  city;  the  record  of  the 
progress  of  the  country  began  to  sound  like  a  story  from 
"  The  Arabian  Nights."  and  the  Consul-General's  annual 
reports  read  like  fresh  chapters  out  of  the  Book  of  Genesis, 
telling  of  the  creation  of  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth. 
The  remaking  of  Egypt  was  the  wonder  of  the  world;  the 
faces  of  the  Egyptians  were  whitened;  England  was  happy, 


22  THE    WHITE    PROrHET 

and  Sir  John  Lord  was  made  a  baronet.  His  son  had  grone 
to  school  in  England  by  this  time,  and  from  Eton  he  was 
to  go  on  to  Sandhurst  and  to  take  up  the  career  of  a  soldier. 

Then,  thinking  the  Englishman's  mission  on  foreign  soil 
was  something  more  than  to  make  money,  the  Consul- 
General  attempted  to  regenerate  the  country.  He  had  been 
sent  out  to  re-establish  the  authority  of  the  Khedive,  yet  he 
proceeded  to  curtail  it;  to  suppress  the  insurrection  of  the 
people,  yet  he  proceeded  to  enlarge  their  liberties.  Setting 
up  a  high  standard  of  morals,  both  in  public  and  private 
life,  he  tolerated  no  trickery.  Finding  himself  in  a  cock- 
pit of  corruption,  he  put  down  bribery,  slavery,  perjuiy, 
and  a  hundred  kinds  of  venality  and  intrigue.  Having 
views  about  individual  justice  and  equal  rights  before  the 
Law,  he  cleansed  the  Law  Courts,  established  a  Christian 
code  of  morals  between  man  and  man,  and  let  the  light  of 
Western  civilisation  into  the  mud-hut  of  the  Egyptian 
fellah. 

Mentally,  morally,  and  physically  his  massive  personal- 
ity became  the  visible  soul  of  Egypt.  If  a  poor  man  was 
wronged  in  the  remotest  village,  he  said,  "  I'll  wi-ite  to 
Lord,"  and  the  threat  was  enough.  He  became  the  visible 
conscience  of  Egypt,  too,  and  if  a  rich  man  was  tempted  to 
do  a  doubtful  deed  he  thought  of  "  the  Englishman,"  and 
the  doubtful  deed  was  not  done. 

The  people  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  trusted  him,  and  the 
people  at  the  bottom,  a  simple,  credulous,  kindly  race,  who 
were  such  as  sixty  centuries  of  misgovernment  had  made 
them,  touched  their  breasts,  their  lips,  and  their  foreheads 
at  the  mention  of  his  name,  and  called  him  "  The  Father  of 
Egypt."  England  was  proud,  and  Sir  John  Lord  was  made 
a  peer. 

When  the  King's  letter  reached  him  he  took  it  to  his 
wife,  who  now  lay  for  long  hours  every  day  on  the  couch  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  then  wrote  to  his  son,  who  had  left 
Sandhurst  and  Avas  serving  with  his  regiment  in  the  Sou- 
dan, but  he  said  nothing  to  anybody  else,  and  left  even  his 
secretary  to  learn  the  great  news  through  the  newspapers. 

He  was  less  reserved  when  he  came  to  select  his  title. 


THE    CRESCENT   AND    THE    CROSS  23 

and,  remembering  his  brother,  he  found  a  fierce  joy  in  call- 
ing himself  by  his  father's  name,  thinking  he  had  earned 
the  right  to  it.  Twenty-five  years  had  passed  since  he  had 
dedicated  his  life  to  the  founding  of  a  family  that  should 
eclipse,  and  even  humiliate,  the  family  of  his  brother,  and 
now  his  secret  aim  was  realised.  He  saw  a  long  line  suc- 
ceeding him — his  son,  and  his  son's  son,  and  his  son's  son's 
son,  all  peers  of  the  realm,  and  all  Nunehams.  His  revenge 
was  sweet ;  he  was  very  happy. 


IV 

If  Lord  ISTuneham  had  died  then,  or  if  he  had  passed 
away  from  Egypt,  he  would  have  left  an  enduring  fame  as 
one  of  the  great  Englishmen  who  twice  or  thrice  in  a  hun- 
dred years  carve  their  names  on  the  granite  page  of  the 
world's  history;  but  he  went  on  and  on,  until  it  sometimes 
looked  as  if  in  the  end  it  might  be  said  of  him,  in  the  phrase 
of  the  Arab  proverb,  that  he  had  written  his  name  in  water. 

Having  achieved  one  object  of  ambition,  he  set  himself 
another,  and  having  tasted  power  he  became  possessed  by 
the  lust  of  it.  Great  men  had  been  in  England  when  he 
first  came  to  Egypt,  and  he  had  submitted  to  their  instruc- 
tions without  demur,  but  now,  wincing  under  the  orders  of 
inferior  successors,  he  told  himself,  not  idly  boasting,  that 
nobody  in  London  knew  his  work  as  well  as  he  did,  and  he 
must  be  liberated  from  the  domination  of  Downing  Street. 
The  work  of  emancipation  was  delicate  but  not  difiicult. 
There  was  one  power  stronger  than  any  Government  where- 
by public  opinion  might  be  guided  and  controlled — the 
Press. 

The  British  Consul-General  in  Cairo  was  in  a  position 
of  peculiar  advantage  for  guiding  and  controlling  the  Press. 
He  did  guide  and  control  it.  What  he  thought  it  well  that 
Europe  should  know  about  Egypt,  that  it  knew,  and  that 
only.  The  generally  ill-informed  public  opinion  in  Eng- 
land  was   corrected;    the    faulty   praise    and   blame   of   the 


24  THE    WHITE    PKOPHET 

British  Press  was  set  right ;  within  five  years  London  had 
ceased  to  send  instructions  to  Cairo;  and  when  a  diplomatic 
question  created  a  fuss  in  Parliament  the  Consul-General 
was  heard  to  say: 

"  I  don't  care  a  rush  what  the  Government  think,  and  I 
don't  care  a  straw  what  the  Foreign  Minister  says ;  I  have  a 
power   stronger  than  either   at   my  back — the   public." 

It  was  true,  but  it  was  also  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
Having  attained  to  absolute  power,  he  began  to  break  up 
from  the  seeds  of  dissolution  which  always  hide  in  the  heart 
of  it.  Hitherto  he  had  governed  Egypt  by  guiding  a  group 
of  gifted  Englishmen  who,  as  secretaries  and  advisers,  had 
governed  the  Egyptian  governors ;  but  now  he  desired  to 
govern  everything  for  himself.  As  a  consequence  the  gifted 
men  had  to  go,  and  their  places  were  taken  by  subordinates 
whose  best  qualification  was  their  subservience  to  his  strong 
and  masterful  spirit. 

Even  that  did  not  matter  as  long  as  his  own  strength 
served  him.  He  knew  and  determined  everything,  from  the 
terms  of  treaties  with  foreign  Powers  to  the  wages  of  the 
Khedive's  English  coachman.  With  five  thousand  British 
bayonets  to  enforce  his  will,  he  said  to  a  man,  "  Do  that," 
and  the  man  did  it  or  left  Egypt  without  delay.  No  Em- 
peror or  Czar  or  King  was  ever  more  powerful,  no  Pope 
more  infallible;  but  if  his  rule  was  hard  it  was  also  just, 
and  for  some  years  yet  Egypt  was  well  governed. 

"  When  a  fish  goes  bad,"  the  Arabs  say,  "  is  it  first  at 
the  head  or  at  the  tail  ? "  As  Lord  Nunoham  grew  old  his 
health  began  to  fail,  and  he  had  to  fall  back  on  the  weak- 
lings who  were  only  fit  to  carry  out  his  will.  Then  an  un- 
dertone of  murmuring  was  heard  in  Egypt.  The  Govern- 
ment was  the  same,  yet  it  was  altogether  different.  The 
hand  was  Esau's,  but  the  voice  was  Jacob's.  "  The  mill- 
stones are  grinding,"  said  the  Egyptians,  "  but  we  see  no 
flour." 

The  glowing  fire  of  the  great  Englishman's  fame  began 
to  turn  to  ashes,  and  a  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand 
appeared  in  the  sky.  His  Advisers  complained  to  him  of 
friction    with    their    Ministers;    his    inspectors,    returning 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  25 

from  tours  in  the  country,  gave  him  reports  of  scant  cour- 
tesy at  the  hands  of  natives,  and  to  account  for  their 
failures  they  worked  up  in  his  mind  the  idea  of  a  vast  racial 
and  religious  conspiracy.  The  East  was  the  East,  the  West 
was  the  West,  Moslem  was  Moslem,  Christian  was  Chris- 
tian; Egyptians  cared  more  about  Islam  than  they  did  about 
good  government,  and  Europeans  in  the  Valley  of  the  Nile, 
especially  British  soldiers  and  officials,  were  living  on  the 
top  of  a  volcano. 

The  Consul-General  listened  to  them  with  a  sour  smile, 
but  he  believed  them  and  blundered.  He  was  a  sick  man 
now,  and  he  was  not  really  living  in  Egypt  any  longer;  he 
was  only  sleeping  at  the  Agency,  and  he  thought  he  saw  the 
work  of  his  lifetime  in  danger  of  being  undone.  So,  think- 
ing to  end  fanaticism  by  one  crushing  example,  he  gave  his 
subordinates  an  order  like  that  which  the  ancient  King  of 
Egypt  gave  to  the  midwives,  with  the  result  that  five  men 
were  hanged  and  a  score  were  flogged  before  their  scream- 
ing wives  and  children  for  an  offence  that  had  not  a  par- 
ticle of  religious   or  political  significance. 

A  cry  of  horror  went  up  through  Egypt.  The  Consul- 
General  had  lost  it ;  his  thirty  years  of  great  labour  had 
been  undone  in  a  day. 

As  every  knife  is  out  when  the  bull  is  down,  so  the  place- 
hunting  pashas,  the  greedy  Sheikhs,  and  the  cruel  governors 
whose  corruptions  he  had  suppressed  found  instruments  to 
stab  him,  and  the  people  who  had  kissed  the  hand  they  dared 
not  bite  thought  it  safe  to  bite  the  hand  they  need  not  kiss. 
He  had  opened  the  mouths  of  his  enemies,  and,  in  Eastern 
manner,  they  assailed  him  first  by  parable.  Once  there  had 
been  a  great  English  eagle;  its  eyes  were  clear  and  pierc- 
ing; its  talons  were  firm  and  relentless  in  their  grip;  yet 
it  was  a  proud  and  noble  bird ;  it  held  its  own  against  East 
and  West,  and  protected  all  who  took  refuge  under  its  wing. 
But  now  the  eagle  had  grown  old  and  weak;  other  birds, 
smaller  and  meaner,  had  deprived  it  of  its  feathers  and 
picked  out  its  eyes,  and  it  had  become  blind  and  cruel  and 
cowardly  and  sly.  Would  nobody  shoot  it  or  shut  it  up 
in  a  cage? 


26  THE    WHITE    PEOrHET 

Rightly  or  wrongly,  the  Consul-General  became  con- 
vinced that  the  Khedive  was  intriguing  against  him,  and 
one  day  he  drove  to  the  Royal  palace  and  demanded  an 
audience.  The  interview  that  followed  was  not  the  first  of 
many  stormy  scenes  between  the  real  governor  of  Egypt 
and  its  nominal  ruler,  and  when  Lord  Nuneham  strode  out 
with  his  face  aflame,  through  the  line  of  the  quaking  body- 
guard, he  left  the  Khedive  protesting  plaintively  to  the 
people  of  his  Court  that  he  would  sell  up  all  and  leave  the 
country.  At  that  the  officials  put  their  heads  together  in 
private,  concluded  that  the  present  condition  could  not  last, 
and  asked  themselves  how,  since  it  was  useless  to  expect 
England  to  withdraw  the  Consul-General,  it  was  possible 
for  Egypt  to  get  i-id  of  him.  ' 

By  this  time  Lord  Nuneham,  in  the  manner  of  all  strong 
men  growing  weak,  had  begun  to  employ  spies,  and  one  day 
a  Syrian  Christian  told  him  a  secret  story.  He  was  to  be 
assassinated.  The  crime  was  to  be  committed  in  the  Opera- 
house,  under  the  cover  of  a  general  riot,  on  the  night  of  the 
Khedive's  State  visit,  when  the  Consul-General  was  always 
present.  As  usual,  the  Khedive  was  to  rise  at  the  end  of 
the  first  act  and  retire  to  the  saloon  overlooking  the  square; 
as  \isual,  he  was  to  send  for  Lord  Nuneham  to  follow  him, 
and  the  moment  of  the  Khedive's  return  to  his  box  was  to 
be  the  signal  for  a  rival  demonstration  of  English  and 
Egyptians  that  was  to  end  in  the  Consul-General's  death. 
There  was  no  reason  to  believe  the  Khedive  himself  was 
party  to  the  plot,  or  that  he  knew  anything  about  it,  yet 
none  the  less  it  was  necessary  to  stay  away,  to  find  an  ex- 
cuse— illness   at  the  last  moment,   anything. 

Lord  Nuneham  was  not  afraid,  but  he  sent  up  to  the 
Citadel  for  General  Graves,  and  arranged  that  a  battalion 
of  infantry  and  a  battery  of  artillery  were  to  be  marched 
down  to  the  Opera  Square  at  a  message  over  the  telephone 
from  him. 

"  If  anything  happens  you  know  what  to  do,"  he  said, 
and  the  General  knew  perfectly. 

Then  the  night  came,  and  the  moment  the  Khedive  left 
his  palace  the  Consul-General  heard  of  it.    A  moment  later 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  27 

a  message  was  received  at  the  Citadel,  and  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  afterward  Lord  ISTuiieham  was  taking  his  place  at 
the  Opera.  The  air  of  the  house  tingled  with  excitement, 
and  everj-thing  seemed  to  justify  the  Syrian's  story. 

Sure  enough,  at  the  end  of  the  f.rst  act  the  Khedive 
rose  and  retired  to  the  saloon,  and  sure  enough  at  the  next 
moment  the  Consul-General  was  summoned  to  follow  him. 
His  Highness  was  very  gracious,  very  agreeable,  all  trace 
of  their  last  stormy  interview  being  gone,  and  gradually 
Lord  Nuneham  drew  him  up  to  the  windows  overlooking 
the  public  square. 

There,  under  the  sparkling  light  of  a  dozen  electric 
lamps,  in  a  solid  line  surrounding  the  Opera-house,  stood  a 
battalion  of  infantry  with  the  guns  of  the  artillery  facing 
outward  at  every  corner,  and  at  sight  of  them  the  Khedive 
caught  his  breath  and  said: 

""What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  my  lord?" 

"  Only  a  little  attention  to  your  Highness,"  said  the 
Consul-General,  in  a  voice  that  was  intended  to  be  heard 
all  over  the  room. 

At  that  instant  somebody  came  up  hurriedly  and  whis- 
pered to  the  lOiedive,  who  turned  ashen  white,  ordered  his 
carriage,  and  went  home  immediately. 

Next  morning  at  eleven  Lord  ISTuneham,  with  the  same 
force  drawn  up  in  front  of  Abdeen  Palace,  went  in  to 
see  the  Ivhedive  again. 

"  There's  a  train  for  Alexandria  at  twelve,"  he  said, 
"  and  a  steamer  for  Constantinople  at  five — your  Highness 
will  feel  better  for  a  little  holiday  in  Europe  " ;  and  half  an 
hour  afterward  the  Khedive,  accompanied  by  several  of  his 
Court  officials,  was  on  his  way  to  the  railway-station  with 
the  escort,  in  addition  to  his  own  bodyguard,  of  a  British 
regiment  whose  band  was  playing  the  Khedivial  Hymn. 

He  had  got  rid  of  the  Khedive  at  a  critical  juncture, 
but  he  had  still  to  deal  with  a  sovereign  that  would  not 
easily  be  chloroformed  into  silence.  The  Arabic  Press,  to 
which  he  had  been  the  first  to  give  liberty,  began  to  attack 
him  openly,  to  vilify  him,  and  systematically  to  misrepre- 
sent his  actions,  so  that  he  who  had  been  the  great  torch- 


28  •     THE  WHITE  TROPHET 

bearer  of  light  iu  a  dark  country  saw  himself  called  the 
Great  Adventurer,  the  Tyrant,  the  Assassin,  the  worst 
Pharaoh  Egypt  had  ever  known — a  Pharaoh  surrounded  by 
a  kindergarten  of  false  prophets,  obsessed  by  preposterous 
fears  of  assassination  and  deluded  by  phantoms  of  fanati- 
cism. 

His  subordinates  told  him  that  these  hysterical  tirades 
were  inflaming  the  whole  of  Egypt ;  that  their  influence 
was  in  proportion  to  their  violence;  that  the  huge  un- 
taught mass  of  the  Egyptian  people  were  listening  to  them; 
that  there  was  not  an  ignorant  fellah  possessed  of  one 
ragged  garment  who  did  not  go  to  the  coffee-house  at  night 
to  hear  them  read;  that  the  lives  of  British  officials  were  in 
peril;  and  that  the  promulgation  of  sedition  must  be  stopped 
or  the  British  governance  of  the  country  could  not  go  on. 

A  sombre  fire  shone  in  the  Consul-General's  eyes  while 
he  heard  their  prophecy,  but  he  believed  it  all  the  same; 
and  when  he  spoke  contemptuously  of  incendiary  articles  as 
froth,  and  they  answered  that  froth  could  be  stained  with 
blood,  he  told  himself  that  if  fools  and  ingrates,  spouting 
nonsense  in  Arabic,  could  destroy  whatever  germs  of  civ- 
ilisation he  had  implanted  in  Egypt,  the  doctrine  of  the 
liberty  of  the  Press  was  all  moonshine. 

And  so,  after  sinister  efforts  to  punish  the  whole  people 
for  the  excesses  of  their  journalists  by  enlarging  the  British 
Army  and  makin?  the  country  pay  the  expense,  he  found  a 
means  to  pass  a  new  Press  law,  to  promulgate  it  by  help  of 
the  Prime  Minister — now  Regent  in  the  Khedive's  place — 
and  to  suppress  every  native  newspaper  in  Egypt  in  one 
day.  By  that  blow  the  Egyptians  were  staggered  into 
silence,  the  British  officials  went  about  with  stand-off  man- 
ners and  airs  of  conscious  triumph,  and  Lord  Nuneham 
himself,  mistaking  violence  for  power,  thought  he  was  mas- 
ter of  Egj'pt  once  more. 

But  low,  very  low  on  the  horizon  a  new  planet  now  rose 
in  the  firmament.  It  was  not  the  star  of  a  Khedive  jealous 
of  Xuneham's  power,  or  of  an  Egyptian  Minister  girding 
under  the  orders  of  his  Under-Secretary,  or  yet  of  a  jour- 
nalist vilifying  England  and  flirting  with  France,  but  that 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  29 

of  a  simple  Arab  in  a  turban  and  caftan,  a  swarthy  son  of 
the  deaert  whose  name  no  man  had  heard  before,  and  it 
was  rising  over  the  dome  over  the  mosque,  within  whose 
sacred  precincts  neither  the  Consul-General  nor  his  officials 
could  intrude,  and  where  the  march  of  British  soldiers  could 
not  be  made.  There  a  reverberation  was  being  heard,  a  new 
voice  was  going  forth,  and  it  was  echoing  and  re-echoing 
through  the  hushed  chambers  that  were  the  heart  of  Islam, 

When  Lord  Xuneham  first  asked  about  the  Arab  he  was 
told  that  the  man  was  one  Ishmael  Ameer,  out  of  the 
Libyan  desert,  a  carpenter's  son  and  a  fanatical,  backward, 
unenlightened  person  of  no  consequence  whatever;  but  with 
his  sure  eye  for  the  political  heavens  the  Consul-General 
perceived  that  a  planet  of  no  common  magnitude  had  ap- 
peared in  the  Egyptian  sky,  and  that  it  would  avail  him 
nothing  to  have  suppressed  the  open  sedition  of  the  news- 
papers if  he  had  only  driven  it  underground  into  the 
mosques,  where  it  would  be  a  hundredfold  more  dangerous. 

If  a  political  agitation  was  not  to  be  turned  into  relig- 
ious unrest,  if  fanaticism  was  not  to  conquer  civilisation 
and  a  holy  war  to  carry  the  country  back  to  its  old  rotten 
condition  of  bankruptcy  and  barbarity,  that  man  out  of 
the  Libyan  desert  must  be  put  down.  But  how  and  by 
whom?  He  himself  was  old — more  than  seventy  years  old; 
his  best  days  were  behind  him,  the  road  in  front  of  him 
must  be  all  doMTihill  now,  and  when  he  looked  around 
among  the  sycophants  who  said,  "  Yes,  my  lord !  "  "  Excel- 
lent, my  lord !  "  "  The  very  thing,  my  lord !  "  for  some  one 
to  fight  the  powers  of  darkness  that  were  arrayed  against 
him,  he  saw  none. 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  he  had  gone  to  the  sham  fight, 
merely  because  he  had  to  show  himself  in  public,  and  there, 
sitting  immediately  in  front  of  the  fine  girl  who  was  to  be 
his  daughter  soon,  and  feeling  at  one  moment  her  quick 
breathing  on  his  neck,  he  had  been  suddenly  caught  up  by 
the  spirit  of  her  enthusiasm  and  had  seen  his  son  as  he  had 
never  seen  him  before.  Putting  his  glasses  to  his  eyes,  he 
had  watched  him — he  and,  as  it  seemed,  the  girl  together. 
Such  courage,   such  fire,  such  resource,  such  insight,  such 


30  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

foresight !  It  must  be  the  finest  brain  and  firmest  character 
in  Egj-pt,  and  it  was  his  own  flesh  and  blood — his  own  son 
Gordon ! 

Hitherto  his  attitude  toward  Gordon  had  been  one  of 
placid  affection,  compounded  partly  of  selfishness,  being 
proud  that  he  was  no  fool  and  could  forge  along  in  his  pro- 
fession, and  pleased  to  think  of  him  as  the  next  link  in  the 
chain  of  the  family  he  was  founding;  but  now  everything 
was  changed.  The  right  man  to  put  down  sedition  was  the 
man  at  his  right  hand.  He  would  save  England  against 
Egyptian  aggression;  he  would  save  his  father,  too,  who 
was  old  and  whose  strength  was  spent;  and  perhaps — why 
not? — he  would  succeed  him  some  day  and  carry  on  the 
traditions  of  his  work  in  the  conquest  of  civilisation  and 
its  triumph  in  the  dark  countries  of  the  world. 

For  the  first  time  for  forty  years  a  hea\';>'  and  solitary 
tear  dropped  slowly  down  the  Consul-General's  cheek,  now 
deeply  scored  with  lines,  but  no  one  saw  it,  because  few 
dared  look  into  his  face.  The  man  who  had  never  unbur- 
dened himself  to  a  living  soul  wished  to  unburden  himself 
at  last,  so  he  scribbled  his  note  to  Gordon  and  then  stepped 
into  the  carriage  that  was  to  take  him  home. 

Meantime  he  was  aware  that  some  fool  had  provoked  a 
demonstration,  but  that  troubled  him  hardly  at  all,  and 
while  the  crackling  cries  of  "  Long  live  Egypt !  "  were  fol- 
lowing him  down  the  arena  he  was  being  borne  along  as  by 
invisible  wings. 

Thus  the  two  aims  in  the  great  Proconsul's  life  had  be- 
come one  aim,  and  that  one  aim  centred  in  his  son. 


As  Gordon  went  into  the  British  Agency  a  small,  wiz- 
ened man  with  a  pock-marked  face,  wearing  Oriental  dress, 
came  out.  He  was  the  Grand  Cadi  (Chief  Judge)  of  the 
Mohammedan  Courts  and  representative  of  the  Sultan  of 
Turkey  in  Egypt,  one  who  had  secretly  hated  the  Consul- 


THE    CRESCENT   AND    THE    CROSS  31 

General  and  raved  against  the  Eng-lish  rule  for  years;  and 
as  he  saluted  obsequiously  with  his  honeyed  voice  and 
smiled  with  his  crafty  eyes  it  flashed  upon  Gordon — he  did 
not  know  why — that  just  so  must  Caiaphas,  the  high  priest, 
have  looked  when  he  came  out  of  Pilate's  judgment  hall 
after  saying,  "  If  thou  let  this  man  go  thou  art  not  Caesar's 
friend." 

Gordon  leaped  up  the  steps  and  into  the  house  as  one  who 
was  at  home,  and,  going  first  into  the  shaded  drawing-room, 
he  found  his  mother  on  the  couch  looking  to  the  sunset  and 
the  Nile — a  sweet  old  lady  in  the  twilight  of  life,  with 
white  hair,  a  thin  face  almost  as  white,  and  the  pale  smile 
of  a  patient  soul  who  had  suffered  pain.  "With  her,  attend- 
ing upon  her,  and  at  that  moment  handing  a  cup  of  chicken 
broth  to  her,  was  a  stout  Egyptian  woman  with  a  good 
homely  countenance — Gordon's  old  nurse,  Fatimah. 

His  mother  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  roused  her- 
self on  the  couch,  and  with  that  startled  cry  of  joy  which 
has  only  one  note  in  all  jSTature,  that  of  a  mother  meeting 
her  beloved  son,  she  cried,  "  Gordon !  Gordon !  "  and  clasped 
her  delicate  hands  about  his  neck.  Before  he  could  prevent 
it,  his  foster-mother,  too,  muttering  in  Eastern  manner, 
"  Oh,  my  eye !  oh,  my  soul !  "  had  snatched  one  of  his  hands 
and  was  smothering  it  with  kisses. 

"And  how  is  Helena  ? "  his  mother  asked,  in  her  low, 
sweet  voice. 

"  Beautiful,"    said   Gordon, 

"  She  couldn't  help  being  that.  But  why  doesn't  she 
come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  anxious  about  her  father's  health  and  is 
afraid  to  leave  him,"  said  Gordon;  and  then  Fatimah,  with 
blushes  showing  through  her  Arab  skin,  said : 

"  Take  care.  A  house  may  hold  a  hundred  men,  but  the 
heart  of  a  woman  has  only  room  for  one  of  them." 

"Ah,  but  Helena's  heart  is  as  wide  as  a  well,  mammy," 
said  Gordon,  whereupon  Fatimah  said: 

"  That's  the  way,  you  see !  When  a  young  man  is  in 
love  there  are  only  two  sorts  of  girls  in  the  world — ordinary 
girls  and  his  girl." 


32  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

At  that  moment,  while  the  women  laughed,  Gordon 
heard  his  father's  deep  voice  in  the  hall  saying,  "  Bid  good- 
bye to  my  wife  before  you  go,  Reg,"'  and  then  the  Consul- 
General,  with  "  Here's  Gordon,  also,"  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, followed  by  Sir  Reginald  Mannering,  Sirdar  of 
the  Egyptian  Army,  and  Governor  of  the  Soudan,  who  said: 

"  Splendid,  my  boy !  Not  forgotten  your  first  fight,  I 
see!  Heavens,  I  felt  as  if  I  was  back  at  Omdurman  and 
wanted  to  get  at  the  demons  again." 

"  Gordon,"  said  the  Consul-General,  "  see  His  Excellency 
to  the  door  and  come  to  me  in  the  librar\%"  and  when  the 
Sirdar  was  going  out  at  the  porch  he  whispered : 

"  Go  easy  with  the  Governor,  my  boy.  Don't  let  any- 
thing cross  him.  Wonderful  man,  but  I  see  a  difference 
since  I  was  down  last  year.     By-bye !  " 

Gordon  found  his  father  writing  a  letter,  with  his  valet, 
Ibrahim,  in  green  caftan  and  red  waistband,  waiting  by  the 
side  of  the  desk,  in  a  plain  room,  formal  as  an  office,  being 
walled  with  bookcases  full  of  blue  books  and  relieved  by  two 
pictures  only,  a  portrait  of  his  mother  when  she  was  younger 
than  he  could  remember  to  have  seen  her,  and  of  himself 
when  he  was  a  child  and  wore  an  Arab  fez  and  slippers. 

"  The  General — the  Citadel,"  said  the  Consul-General, 
giving  his  letter  to  Ibrahim,  and  as  soon  as  the  valet  was 
gone  he  wheeled  his  chair  round  to  Gordon  and  began. 

"  I've  been  writing  to  your  General  for  his  formal  con- 
sent, having  something  I  wish  you  to  do  for  me." 

"  With  pleasure,  sir,"  said  Gordon. 

"  You  know  all  about  the  riots  at  Alexandria  ?  " 

"  Only  what  I've  learned  from  the  London  papers,  sir." 

"  Well,  for  some  time  past  the  people  there  have  been 
showing  signs  of  effervescence.  First,  strikes  of  cabmen, 
carters,  Gods  knows  what — all  concealing  political  issues. 
Then  open  disorder.  Europeans  bustled  and  spat  upon  in 
the  streets.  A  Sheikh  crying  aloud  in  the  public  thorough- 
fares, '  Oh,  Moslems,  come  and  help  me  to  drive  out  the 
Christians!'  Then  a  Greek  merchant  warned  to  take  care, 
as  the  Arabs  were  going  to  kill  the  Christians  that  day  or 
the  daj'  following.    Then  low-class  Moslems  shouting  in  the 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  33 

square  of  Mohammed  Ali,  *  The  last  day  of  the  Christians 
is  drawing  nigh.'  As  a  consequence,  there  have  been  con- 
flicts. The  first  of  them  was  trivial  and  the  police  scat- 
tered the  rioters  with  a  water-hose.  The  second  was  more 
serious  and  some  Europeans  were  wounded.  The  third  was 
alarming  and  several  natives  had  to  be  arrested.  Well, 
when  I  look  for  the  cause,  I  find  the  usual  one." 

"What  is  it,  sir?"  asked  Gordon. 

"  Egj'pt  has  at  all  times  been  subject  to  local  insurrec- 
tions. They  are  generally  of  a  religious  character,  and  are 
set  on  foot  by  mad  men  who  give  themselves  out  as  divinely 
inspired  leaders.     But  shall  I  tell  you  what  it  all  means  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,  sir,"  said  Gordon. 

The  Consul-General  rose  from  his  chair  and  began  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  room  with  long  strides  and  heavy 
tread. 

"  It  means,"  he  said,  "  that  the  Egyptians,  like  all  other 
Mohammedans,  are  cut  off  by  their  religion  from  the  spirit 
and  energy  of  the  great  civilised  nations;  that,  swathed  in 
the  bands  of  the  Koran,  the  Moslem  faith  is  like  a  mummy, 
dead  to  all  uses  of  the  modern  world." 

The  Consul-General  drew  up  sharply,  and  continued: 
"Perhaps  all  dogmatic  religions  are  more  or  less  like  that, 
but  the  Christian  religion  has  accommodated  itself  to  the 
spirit  of  the  ages,  whereas  Islam  remains  fixed,  the  religion 
of  the  seventh  century,  born  in  a  desert  and  suckled  in  a 
society  that  was  hardly  better  than  barbarism." 

He  began  to  walk  again  and  to  talk  with  great  anima- 
tion. 

"  What  does  Islam  mean  ?  It  means  slavery,  seclusion 
of  women,  indiscriminate  divorce,  unlimited  polygamy,  the 
breakdown  of  the  family,  and  the  destruction  of  the  nation. 
Well,  what  happens  ?  Civilisation  comes  along,  and  it  is 
death  to  all  such  dark  ways.  What  next  ?  The  scheming 
Sheikhs,  the  corrupt  pashas,  the  tyrranical  caliphs,  all  the 
rascals  and  rogues  who  batten  on  corruption,  the  fanatics 
who  are  opponents  of  the  light,  cry  out  against  it.  Either 
they  must  lose  their  interests  or  civilisation  must  go.  What 
then  ?      Civilisation    means    the    West ;     the    West    moans 


34  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Christianity,  So,  'Down  wiili  the  Christians!  Oh,  Mos- 
lems, help  us  to  kill  them ! '  " 

The  Consul-General  stopped  by  Gordon's  chair,  put  his 
hand  on  his  son's  shoulder,  and  said: — 

"  There  comes  a  time  in  the  history  of  all  our  Moham- 
medan dependencies — India,  Egypt,  every  one  of  them — 
when  England  has  to  confront  a  condition  like  that." 

"  And  what  has  she  to  do,  sir  ? " 

The  Consul-General  lifted  his  right  fist  and  brought  it 
down  on  his  left  palm,  and  said: 

"  To  come  dowTi  with  a  heavy  hand  on  the  lying  agitators 
and  intriguers  who  are  leading  away  the  ignorant  populace." 

"  I  agree,  sir.  It  is  the  agitators  who  should  be  punished, 
not  the  poor,  emotional,  credulous  Egyptian  people." 

"  The  Egyptian  people,  my  boy,  are  graceless  ingrates 
who,  under  the  influence  of  momentary  passion,  would  brain 
their  best  friend  with  their  nabouts,  and  go  like  camels 
before  the  camel-driver." 

Gordon  winced  visibly,  but  only  said,  "  Who  is  the  camel- 
driver  in  this  instance,  sir?" 

"  A  certain  Ishmael  Ameer,  preaching  in  the  great 
mosque  at  Alexandria,  the  ci'adle  of  all  disaffection." 

"An  alim?" 

"  A  teacher  of  some  sort,  saying  England  is  the  deadly 
foe  of  Islam,  and  must  therefore  be  driven  out." 

"Then  he  is  worse  than  the  journalists?" 

"  Yes ;  we  thought  of  the  viper,  forgetting  the  scorpion." 

"But  is  it  certain  he  is  so  dangerous?" 

"  One  of  the  leaders  of  his  own  people  has  just  been  here 
to  say  that  if  we  let  that  man  go  on  it  will  be  death  to  the 
rule  of  England  in  Egypt." 

"  The  Grand  Cadi  ?  " 

The  Consul-General  nodded  and  then  said :  "  The  cun- 
ning rogue  has  a  grievance  of  his  own,  I  find,  but  w'hat's 
that  to  me?  The  first  duty  of  a  Government  is  to  keep 
order." 

"  I  agree,"  said  Gordon. 

"  Thf.re  may  be  picric  acid  in  prayers  as  well  as  in 
bombs." 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  35 

"  There  may." 

"  We  have  to  make  these  fanatical  preachers  realise  that, 
even  if  the  onward  march  of  progress  is  but  faintly  heard 
in  the  sealed  vaults  of  their  mosque,  civilisation  is  standing 
outside  the  walls  with  its  laws  and,  if  need  be,  its  soldiers." 

"  You  are  satisfied,  sir,  that  this  man  is  likely  to  lead 
the  poor,  foolish  people  into  rapine  and  slaughter  ? " 

"  I  recognise  a  bird  by  its  flight.  This  is  another  Mahdi 
— I  see  it — I  feel  it,"  said  the  Consul-General,  and  his  eyes 
flashed  and  his  voice  echoed  like  a  horn. 

"  You  want  me  to  smash  the  Mahdi  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  Your  namesake  wanted  to  smash  his  pre- 
decessor— romantic  person,  too  fond  of  guiding  his  conduct 
by  reference  to  the  prophet  Isaiah — but  he  was  right  in  that 
and  the  Government  was  wrong,  and  the  consequence  was 
the  massacre  you  represented  to-day." 

"  I  have  to  arrest  Ishmael  Ameer  ?  " 

"  That's  so.  In  open  riot,  if  possible,  and  if  not, 
by  means  of  testimony  derived  from  his  sermons  in  the 
mosques." 

"Hadn't  we  better  begin  there,  sir? — make  sure  that  he 
is  inciting  the  people  to  violence  ? " 

"  As  you  please." 

"  You  don't  forget  that  the  mosques  are  closed  to  me  as 
a  Christian  ? " 

The  Consul-General  reflected  for  a  moment  and  then 
said,  "  Where's  Fatimah's  son,  Hafiz  ?  " 

"  With  his  regiment  at  Abbassiah." 

"  Take  him  with  you.  Take  two  other  Moslem  witnesses 
as  well." 

"I'm  to  bring  this  new  prophet  back  to  Cairo?" 

"That's  it;  bring  him  here.     We'll  do  all. the  rest." 

"  What  if  there  should  be  trouble  with  the  people  ?  " 

"  There's  a  battalion  of  British  soldiers  in  Alexandria. 
Keep  a  force  in  readiness — under  arms  night  and  day." 

"  But  if  it  should  spread  beyond  Alexandria  ? " 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you.  I  mean,"  said  the  Consul- 
General,  hesitating  for  the  first  time,  "  we  don't  want  blood- 
shed, but  if  it  must  come  to  that  it  must,  and  the  eyes  of 


36  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

England  will  be  on  you.  What  more  can  a  young  man  want? 
Think  of  yourself  " — he  put  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder 
again — "  think  of  yourself  as  on  the  eve  of  crushing  Eng- 
land's enemies  and  rendering  a  signal  service  to  Gordon 
Lord  as  well.  And  now  go — go  up  to  your  General  and  get 
his  formal  consent.  My  love  to  Helena !  Fine  girl,  very ! 
She's  the  sort  of  woman  who  might  .  .  .  yes,  women  are 
the  springs  that  move  everything  in  this  world.  Bid  good- 
bye to  your  mother  and  get  away.  Lose  no  time.  Write  to 
me  as  soon  as  you  have  anything  to  say.  That's  enough  for 
the  present.     I'm  busy.     Good  day !  " 

Almost  before  Gordon  had  left  the  library  the  Consul- 
General  was  back  at  his  desk — the  stern,  saturnine  man  once 
more,  with  a  face  that  seemed  to  express  a  mind  inaccessible 
to  human  emotions  of  any  sort. 

"  As  bright  as  a  light — sees  things  before  one  says  them," 
he  said  to  himself,  as  Gordon  closed  the  door  on  going  out. 
"Why  have  I  wasted  myself  with  weaklings  so  long?" 

Gordon  kissed  his  pale-faced  mother  in  the  drawing-room 
and  his  swarthy  foster-mother  in  the  porch,  and  went  back 
to  his  quarters  in  barracks — a  rather  bare  room  with  bed, 
desk,  and  bookcase,  many  riding  boots  on  a  shelf,  several 
weapons  of  savage  warfare  on  the  walls,  a  dervish's  suit  of 
chain  armour  with  a  bullet-hole  where  the  heart  of  the  man 
had  been,  a  picture  of  Eton,  his  old  school,  and  above  all, 
as  became  the  home  of  a  soldier,  many  photographs  of  his 
womankind — his  mother  with  her  plaintive  smile,  Fatimah 
with  her  humorous  look,  and,  of  course,  Helena  with  her 
glorious  eyes,  Helena,  Helena,  everywhere  Helena. 

There,  taking  down  the  receiver  of  a  telephone,  he  called 
up  the  headquarters  of  the  Egyptian  Army  and  spoke  to 
Hafiz,  his  foster-brother,  now  a  captain  in  the  native 
cavalry. 

"Is  that  you,  Hafiz?  .  .  .  Well,  look  here,  I  want  to 
know  if  you  can  arrange  to  go  with  me  to  Alexandria  for  a 
day  or  two  ?  ,  .  .  You  can  ?  Good !  I  wish  you  to  help  me 
to  deal  with  that  new  preacher,  prophet,  Mahdi.  What's 
his  name,  now?  .  .  .  That's  it — Ishmael  Ameer.  He  has 
been  setting   Moslem   against   Christian,   and  we've  got   to 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  37 

lay  the  gentleman  by  the  heels  before  he  gets  the  poor, 
credulous  people  into  further  trouble.  .  .  .  What  do  you  say  ? 
.  .  .  Not  that  kind  of  man,  you  think?  .  .  .  jSTo?  .  .  .  You 
surprise  me.  .  .  .  Do  you  really  mean  to  say?  .  .  .  Cer- 
tainly; that's  only  fair.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  ought  to  know  all  about 
him.  .  .  .  Your  uncle?  .  .  .  Chancellor  of  the  University? 
.  .  •  I  know — El  Azhar.  .  .  .  When  could  I  see  him?  .  .  . 
What  day  do  we  go  to  Alexandria  ?  To-morrow,  if  possible. 
.  .  .  To-night  the  only  convenient  time,  you  think?  Well, 
I  promised  to  dine  at  the  Citadel;  but  I  suppose  I  must 
write  to  Helena.  .  .  .  Oh,  needs  must  when  the  devil  drives, 
old  fellow.  .  .  .  To-night,  then?  .  .  .  You'll  come  down  for 
me  immediately  ?     Good !     By-bye !  " 

With  that  he  rang  off  and  sat  down  to  write  a  letter. 


VI 

Gordon  Lord  loved  the  Egyptians.  Nursed  on  the  knee 
of  an  Egyptian  woman,  speaking  Arabic  as  his  mother- 
tongue,  lisping  the  songs  of  Arabia  before  he  knew  a  word 
of  English,  Egypt  was  under  his  very  skin,  and  the  spirit  of 
the  Nile  and  of  the  desert  was  in  his  blood. 

Only  once  a  day  in  his  childhood  was  there  a  break  in  his 
Arab  life.  That  was  in  the  evening  about  sunset,  when 
Fatimah  took  him  into  his  father's  library,  and  the  great 
man  with  his  stern  face,  who  assumed  toward  him  a  singu- 
larly cold  manner,  put  him  through  a  catechism  which  was 
always  the  same:  "Tutor  been  here  to-day,  boy?"  "Yes, 
sir."  "  Done  your  lessons  ?  "  "  Yes,  sir."  "  English — 
French — everything?"  "Yes,  sir."  "Say  good  night  to 
your  mother  and  go  to  bed." 

Then  for  a  few  moments  more  he  was  taken  into  his 
mother's  boudoir,  the  cool  room  with  the  blinds  down  to 
keep  out  the  sun,  where  the  lady  with  the  beautiful,  pale 
face  embraced  and  kissed  him,  and  made  him  kneel  by  her 
side  while  they  said  the  Lord's  Prayer  together  in  a  rustling 
whisper,  like  a  breeze  in  the  garden.  But,  after  that,  off  to 
4 


38  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

bed  with  Hafiz — who,  in  his  Arab  caftan  and  fez,  had  been 
looking  furtively  in  at  the  half-open  door — up  two  steps  at 
a  time,  shouting  and  singing  in  Arabic,  while  Fatimah,  in 
fear  of  the  Consul-General,  cried,  "  Hush !  Be  good,  now, 
my  sweet  eyes !  " 

In  his  boyhood,  too,  he  had  been  half  a  Mohammedan, 
going  every  afternoon  to  fetch  Hafiz  home  from  the  kuttab, 
the  school  of  the  mosque,  and  romping  round  the  sacred 
place  like  a  little  king  in  stocking  feet,  until  the  Sheikh  in 
charge,  who  pretended  as  long  as  possible  not  to  see  him, 
came  with  a  long  cane  to  whip  him  out,  always  saying  he 
should  never  come  there  again — until  to-morrow. 

While  at  school  in  England  he  had  felt  like  a  foreigner, 
wearing  his  silk  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  as  if  it  had 
been  a  tarboosh,  and  while  at  Sandhurst,  where  he  got 
through  his  three  years  more  easily — in  spite  of  a  certain 
restiveness  under  discipline — he  had  always  been  looking 
forward  to  his  Christmas  visits  home — that  is  to  say,  to 
Cairo. 

But  at  last  he  came  back  to  Egypt  on  a  great  errand, 
•with  the  expedition  that  was  intended  to  revenge  the  death 
of  his  heroic  namesake,  having  got  his  commission  by  that 
time,  and  being  asked  for  by  his  father's  old  friend,  Reginald 
Mannering,  who  was  a  colonel  in  the  Egyptian  Army.  His 
joy  was  wild,  his  excitement  delirious;  and  even  the  desert 
marches  under  the  blazing  sun  and  the  sky  of  brass,  killing 
to  some  of  his  British  comrades,  was  a  long  delight  to  the 
Arab  soul  in  him. 

The  first  fighting  he  did,  too,  was  done  with  an  Egyptian 
by  his  side.  His  great  chum  was  a  young  lieutenant  named 
Ali  Awad,  the  son  of  a  pasha,  a  bright,  intelligent,  affec- 
tionate young  fellow  who  was  intensely  sensitive  to  the  con- 
tempt of  British  officers  for  the  quality  of  the  courage  of 
their  Egyptian  colleagues.  During  the  hurly-burly  of  the 
Battle  of  Omdurman  both  Gordon  and  Ali  had  been  eager 
to  get  at  the  enemy,  but  their  Colonel  had  held  them  back, 
saying,  "  What  will  your  fathers  say  to  me  if  I  allow  you  to 
go  into  a  hell  like  that  ? "  When  the  dervish  lines  had  been 
utterly  broken,  though,   and  one  coffee-coloured  demon   in 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  39 

chain  armour  was  stealing  off  with  his  black  banner,  the 
Colonel  said,  "  Now's  your  time,  boys ;  show  what  stuff  you 
are  made  of;  bring  me  back  that  flag,"  and  before  the  words 
were  out  of  his  mouth  the  young  soldiers  were  gone. 

Other  things  happened  immediately,  and  the  Colonel  had 
forgotten  his  order  when,  the  battle  being  over,  and  the 
British  and  Egyptian  Army  about  to  enter  the  dirty  and 
disgusting  city  of  the  Caliph,  he  became  aware  that  Gordon 
Lord  was  riding  beside  him  with  a  black  banner  in  one  hand 
and  some  broken  pieces  of  horse's  reins  in  the  other. 

"  Bravo !     You've  got  it,  then  ?  "  said  the  Colonel. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Gordon,  very  sadly,  and  the  Colonel  saw 
that  there  were  tears  in  the  boy's  eyes. 

"  What's  amiss  ?  "  he  said,  and,  looking  round,  "  Where's 
All?" 

Then  Gordon  told  him  what  had  happened.  They  had 
captured  the  dervish  and  compelled  him  to  give  up  his  spear 
and  rifle,  but  just  as  Ali  was  leading  the  man  into  the 
English  lines  the  demon  had  drawn  a  knife  and  treacherously 
stabbed  him  in  the  back.  The  boy  choked  with  sobs  while 
he  delivered  his  comrade's  last  message :  "  Say  good-bye  to 
the  Colonel,  and  tell  him  Ali  Awad  was  not  a  coward.  I 
didn't  let  go  the  Baggara's  horse  until  he  stuck  me,  and 
then  he  had  to  cut  the  reins  to  get  away.  Show  the  bits  of 
the  bridle  to  my  Colonel  and  tell  him  I  died  faithful.  Say 
my  salaams  to  him,  Charlie.  I  knew  Charlie  Gordon  Lord 
would  stay  with  me  to  the  end." 

The  Colonel  was  quite  broken  down,  but  he  only  said, 
"  This  is  no  time  for  crying,  my  boy,"  and  a  moment  after- 
ward, "  What  became  of  the  dervish  ? "  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  the  fighting  devil  flashed  out  of  Gordon's  eyes,  and  he 
answered : 

"  I  killed  him  like  a  dog,  sir." 

It  was  the  black  flag  of  the  Caliph  himself  which  Gordon 
had  taken,  and  when  the  Commander-in-Chief  sent  home 
his  despatch  he  mentioned  the  name  of  the  young  soldier 
who  had  captured  it. 

From  that  day  onward  for  fifteen  years  honours  fell  thick 
on  Gordon  Lord.     Being  continually  on  active  service,  and 


40  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

generally  in  staff  appointments,  promotions  came  quick,  so 
that  when  he  went  to  South  Africa,  the  graveyard  of  so 
many  military  reputations,  in  those  first  dark  days  of  the 
nation's  deep  humiliation,  when  the  very  foundations  of  her 
army's  renown  seemed  to  be  giving  way,  he  was  one  of  the 
young  officers  whose  gallantry  won  back  England's  fame. 
Though  hot-tempered,  impetuous,  and  liable  to  frightful 
errors,  he  had  the  imagination  of  a  soldier  as  well  as  the 
bravery  that  goes  to  the  heart  of  a  nation,  so  that  when  in 
due  course,  being  now  full  colonel,  he  was  appointed,  though 
so  young,  Sccond-in-Command  of  the  Army  of  Occupation 
in  Cairo,  no  one  was  surprised. 

All  the  same,  he  knew  he  owed  his  appointment  to  his 
father's  influence,  and  he  wrote  to  thank  him  and  to  say 
he  was  delighted  to  return  to  Cairo.  Only  at  intervals  had 
he  heard  from  the  Consul-General,  and,  though  his  admira- 
tion of  his  father  knew  no  limit,  and  he  thought  him  the 
greatest  man  in  the  world,  he  always  felt  there  was  a  mist 
between  them.  Once,  for  a  moment,  had  that  mist  seemed 
to  be  dispelled,  when,  on  his  coming  of  age,  his  father  wrote 
a  letter  in  which  he  said : 

"  You  are  twenty-one  years  of  age,  Gordon,  and  your 
mother  and  I  have  been  recalling  the  incidents  of  the  day 
on  which  you  were  born.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  from  this 
day  foi-ward  I  am  no  longer  your  father;  I  am  your  friend; 
perhaps  the  best  friend  you  will  ever  have.  Let  nothing  and 
no  one  come  between  us." 

Gordon's  joy  on  returning  to  Egypt  was  not  greater  than 
that  of  the  Egyptians  on  receiving  him.  They  were  waiting 
in  a  crowd  when  he  arrived  at  the  railway  station,  a  red  sea 
of  tarbooshes,  over  faces  he  remembered  as  the  faces  of 
boys,  with  the  face  of  Hafiz,  now  a  soldier  like  himself, 
beaming  by  his  carriage  window. 

It  was  not  good  form  for  a  British  officer  to  fraternize 
with  the  Egyptians,  but  Gordon  shook  hands  with  everybody 
and  walked  down  the  platform  with  his  arm  round  Ilafiz's 
shoulders,  while  the  others  who  had  come  toward  him  cried, 
"  Salaam,  brother !  "  and  laughed  like  children. 

By  his  own  choice,  and  contrary  to  custom,  quarters  had 


THE    CRESCENT   AND    THE    CROSS  41 

been  found  for  him  in  the  barracks  on  the  bank  of  the  Nile, 
and  the  old  familiar  scene  from  there  made  his  heart  leap  and 
tremble.  It  was  evening  when  at  last  he  was  left  alone,  and 
throwing  the  window  wide  he  looked  out  on  the  river,  which 
flowed  like  liquid  gold  in  the  sunset,  with  its  silent  boats, 
that  looked  like  birds  with  outstretched  wings,  floating  down 
without  a  ripple,  and  the  violet  blossom  of  the  island  on  the 
other  side  spreading  odours  in  the  warm  spring  air. 

He  was  watching  the  traffic  on  the  bridge — the  camels, 
the  cameleers,  the  donkeys,  the  blue-shirted  fellaheen,  the 
women  with  tattooed  chins  and  children  astraddle  on  their 
shoulders,  the  water-carriers  with  their  bodies  twisted  by 
their  burdens,  the  Bedouins  with  their  lean,  lithe,  swarthy 
forms  and  the  rope  round  the  head-shawls  which  descended 
to  their  shoulders — when  he  heard  the  toot  of  a  motor- 
car and  saw  a  white  automobile  threading  its  way  through 
the  crowd.  The  driver  was  a  girl,  and  a  scarf  of  white 
chiffon  which  she  had  bound  about  her  head  instead  of  a 
hat  was  flying  back  in  the  light  breeze,  leaving  her  face 
framed  within,  with  big  black  eyes  and  a  firm  but  lovely 
mouth. 

An  officer  in  general's  uniform  was  sitting  at  the  back 
of  the  car,  but  Gordon  was  conscious  of  the  man's  presence 
without  actually  seeing  him,  so  much  was  he  struck  by  the 
spirit  of  the  girl,  which  suggested  a  proud  strength  and  self- 
reliance,  coupled  with  a  certain  high  gaiety,  full  of  energy 
and  grace. 

Gordon  leaned  out  of  his  window  to  get  a  better  look  at 
her,  and,  quick  as  the  glance  was,  he  thought  she  looked  up 
at  him  as  the  motor  glided  by.  At  the  next  instant  she  had 
gone,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  one  second,  at  one  stride, 
the  sun  had  gone,  too. 

That  night  he  dined  at  the  British  Agency,  but  he  did 
not  stay  late,  thinking  his  father,  who  looked  much  older, 
seemed  preoccupied,  and  his  mother,  who  appeared  to  be  more 
delicate  than  ever,  was  over-exciting  herself;  but  early  next 
morning  he  rode  up  to  the  Citadel  to  pay  his  respects  to  his 
General  in  command,  and  there  a  surprise  awaited  him. 
General    Graves    was    ill   and    unable   to   see   him,   but   his 


42  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

daughter  came  to  offer  his  apologies — and  she  was  the  driver 
of  the  automobile. 

The  impression  of  strength  and  energy  which  the  girl 
had  made  on  him  the  evening  before  was  deepened  by  this 
nearer  view.  She  was  fairly  tall,  and  as  she  swung  into 
the  room  her  graceful,  round  form  seemed  to  be  poised  from, 
the  hips.  This  particularly  struck  him,  as  he  told  himself 
at  that  first  moment  that  here  was  a  girl  who  might  be  a 
soldier,  with  the  passionate  daring  and  chivalry  of  women 
like  Joan  of  Arc  and  the  Rani  of  Jhansi. 

At  the  next  moment  he  had  forgotten  all  about  that,  and 
under  the  caressing  smile  which  broke  from  her  face  and 
fascinated  him,  he  was  feeling  as  if  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  was  alone  with  a  young  and  beautiful  woman.  They 
talked  a  long  time,  and  he  was  startled  by  an  unexpected 
depth  in  her  voice,  while  his  own  voice  seemed  to  him  to 
have  suddenly  disappeared. 

"  You  like  the  Egyptians,  yes  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  love  them,"  said  Gordon,  "  And  coming  back  here  is 
like  coming  home.  In  fact,  it  is  coming  home.  I've  never 
been  at  home  in  England,  and  I  love  the  desert,  I  love  the 
Nile,  I  love  everything  and  everybody." 

She  laughed — a  fresh,  ringing  laugh,  that  was  one  of 
her  great  charms — and  told  him  about  herself  and  her  female 
friends — the  Khediviah,  who  was  so  sweet,  and  the  Princess 
Nazimah,  who  was  so  amusing,  and  finally  about  the  Sheikh 
who  for  two  years  had  been  teaching  her  Arabic. 

"  I  should  have  known  you  by  your  resemblance  to  your 
mother,"  she  said.  "  But  you  are  like  your  father,  too ;  and 
then  I  saw  you  yesterday — passing  the  barracks,  you  re- 
member." 

"So  you  really  did  .  ,  .  I  thought  our  eyes " 

His  ridiculous  voice  was  getting  out  of  all  control,  so  he 
cleared  his  throat  and  got  up  to  go,  but  the  half  smile  that 
parted  her  lips  and  brightened  her  beautiful  eyes  seemed  to 
say  as  plainly  as  words  could  speak,  "Why  leave  so  soon?" 

He  lingered  as  long  as  he  dared,  and  when  ho  took  up 
his  cap  and  riding-whip  she  threw  the  same  chiffon  scarf 
over  her  head  and  walked  with  him  through  the  garden  to 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  43 

the  gate.  There  they  parted,  and  when,  a  little  ashamed  of 
himself,  he  held  her  soft,  white  hand  somewhat  too  long  and 
pressed  it  slightly  he  thought  an  answering  pressure  came 
back  from  her. 

In  three  weeks  they  were  engaged. 

The  General  trembled  v/hen  he  heard  what  had  hap- 
pened, protested  he  was  losing  the  only  one  he  had  in  the 
world,  asked  what  was  to  become  of  him  when  Helena  had 
to  go  away  with  her  husband,  as  a  soldier's  wife  should, 
but  finally  concluded  to  go  on  half-pay  and  follow  her,  and 
then  said  to  Gordon :  "  Speak  to  your  father.  If  he  is 
satisfied,  so  am  I." 

The  Consul-General  listened  passively,  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  fireplace,  and  after  a  moment  of  silence  he  said : 

"  I've  never  believed  in  a  man  marrying  for  rank  or 
wealth.  If  he  has  any  real  stuff  in  him  he  can  do  better 
than  that.  I  didn't  do  it  myself  and  I  don't  expect  my  son 
to  do  it.  As  for  the  girl,  if  she  can  do  as  well  for  her  hus- 
band as  she  has  done  for  her  father,  she'll  be  worth  more 
to  you  than  any  title  or  any  fortune.  But  see  what  your 
mother  says.     I'm  busy.     Good  day !  " 

His  mother  said  very  little;  she  cried  all  the  time  he 
was  telling  her,  but  at  last  she  told  him  there  was  not  any- 
body else  in  the  world  she  would  give  him  up  to  except 
Helena,  because  Helena  was  gold — pure,  pure  gold. 

Gordon  was  writing  to  Helena  now: 

"  Dearest  Helena  :  Dreadfully  disappointed  I  cannot 
dine  with  you  to-night,  having  to  go  to  Alexandria  to-mor- 
row and  finding  it  necessary  to  begin  preparations  im- 
mediately. 

"  You  must  really  be  a  witch — your  prediction  proved  to 
be  exactly  right — it  was  about  the  new  Mahdi,  the  new 
prophet,  my  father  wished  to  speak  with  me. 

"  The  Governor  thinks  the  man  is  making  mischief,  in- 
citing the  people  to  rebellion  by  preaching  sedition ;  so,  with 
the  General's  consent,  I  am  to  smash  him  with.out  delay. 

"  Hafiz  is  to  go  with  me  to  Alexandria,  and,  strangely 
enough,  he  tells  me  over  the  telephone  that  the  new  prophet, 


44  THE   WHITE    PROPHET 

as  far  as  he  can  learn,  is  not  a  firebrand  at  all;  but  I  am 
just  off  to  see  his  uncle,  the  Chancellor  of  the  University, 
and  he  is  to  tell  me  everything  about  him. 

"  Therefore,  think  of  me  to-night  as  penned  up  in  the 
thick  atmosphere  of  El  Azhar,  tete-d-tete  with  some  sallow- 
faced  fossil  with  pock-marked  cheeks  perhaps,  when  I  hoped 
to  be  in  the  fragrant  freshness  of  the  Citadel,  looking  into 
somebody's  big,  black  eyes,  you  know. 

"  But  really,  my  dear  Nell,  the  way  you  know  things 
without  learning  them  is  wonderful,  and  seems  to  indicate 
an  error  of  Nature  in  not  making  you  a  diplomatist,  which 
would  have  given  you  plenty  of  scope  for  your  uncanny  gift 
of  second  sight. 

"  On  second  thought,  though,  I  prefer  you  as  you  are, 
and  am  not  exactly  dying  to  see  you  turned  into  a  man. 

"  M aa-es-S alamah !    I  kiss  your  hand  I 

"  Gordon. 

"  P.S. — Your  father  would  get  a  letter  from  the  Consul- 
General  suggesting  my  task,  but,  of  course,  I  must  go  up 
for  his  formal  order,  and  you  might  tell  him  I  expect  to  be 
at  the  Citadel  about  tea-time  to-morrow,  which  will  enable 
me  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  you  know,  and  catch 
the  evening  train  as  well. 

"  Strange  if  it  should  turn  out  that  this  new  Mahdi  is 
a  wholesome  influence  after  all,  and  not  a  person  one  can 
conscientiously  put  down !  I  have  always  suspected  that 
the  old  Mahdi  was  a  good  man  at  the  beginning,  an  enemy 
created  by  our  own  errors  and  excesses.  Is  history  repeat- 
ing itself?  I  wonder!  And,  if  so,  what  will  the  Consul- 
General  say  ?    I  wonder !     I  wonder !  " 

Gordon  was  sealing  and  addressing  his  letter  when  his 
soldier  sen-ant  brought  in  ITafiz,  a  bright  young  Egyptian 
officer,  whose  plump  face  seemed  to  be  all  smiles. 

"  Halloa  !  Here  you  are !  "  cried  Gordon ;  and  then,  giv- 
ing his  letter  to  his  servant,  he  said:  "Citadel — General's 
house,  you  know.  .  .  .  And  now,  Hafiz,  my  boy,  let's  bs 
off." 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  45 


VII 

El  Azhar  is  a  vast  edifice  that  stands  in  the  midst  of 
the  Arab  quarter  of  Cairo  like  a  fortress  on  an  island  rock, 
being  surrounded  by  a  tangled  maze  of  narrow,  dirty,  un- 
paved  streets,  with  a  swarming  population  of  Mohamme- 
dans of  every  race;  and  the  Christian  who  crosses  its  rather 
forbidding  portals  feels  that  he  has  passed  in  an  instant 
out  of  the  twentieth  century  and  a  city  of  civilisation  into 
scenes  of  Bible  lands  and  the  earliest  years  of  recorded 
time. 

It  is  a  thousand  years  old  and  the  central  seat  of  Moslem 
learning,  not  for  Egypt  only,  but  for  the  whole  of  the  king- 
doms and  principalities  of  the  Mohammedan  world,  sending 
out  from  there  the  water  of  spiritual  life  that  has  kept 
the  Moslem  soul  alive  through  centuries  of  persecution  and 
pain. 

As  you  approach  its  threshold  a  monotonous  cadence 
comes  out  to  you,  the  murmur  of  the  mass  of  humanity 
within,  and  you  feel  like  one  who  stands  at  the  mouth  of 
some  great  subterranean  river  whose  waters  have  flowed 
with  just  that  sound  on  just  that  spot  since  the  old  world 
itself  was  young. 

It  was  not  yet  full  sunset  when  the  two  young  soldiers 
reached  El  Azhar,  and  after  yellow  slippers  had  been  tied 
over  their  boots  at  the  outer  gate  they  entered  the  dim, 
bewildering  place  of  vast  courts  and  long  corridors  with 
lov7  roofs  supported  by  a  forest  of  columns,  and  floors  cov- 
ered by  a  vast  multitude  of  men  and  boys,  who  were  squat- 
ting on  the  ground  in  knots  and  circles,  all  talking  to- 
gether, teachers  and  pupils,  and  many  of  them  swaying 
rhythmically  to  and  fro  to  a  monotonous  chanting  of  the 
Koran,  whose  verses  they  were  learning  by  heart. 

Picking  their  way  through  the  classes  on  the  floor,  the 
young  soldiers  crossed  an  open  quadrangle  and  ascended 
many  flights  of  stairs  until  they  reached  the  Chancellor's 
room  in  the  highest  roof,  where  the  droning  murmur  in 
the  courts  below  could  be  only  faintly  heard,  and  the  clear 
5 


46  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

voice  of  the  muezzin  struck  level  with  their  faces  when  he 
came  out  of  a  minaret  near  by  and  sent  into  the  upper  air, 
north,  south,  east,  and  west,  his  call  to  evening  prayers. 

They  had  hardly  entered  this  silent  room,  with  its  thick 
carpets  on  which  their  slippered  feet  made  no  noise,  when 
the  Chancellor  came  to  welcome  them.  He  was  a  striking 
figure,  type  of  the  grave  and  dignified  Oriental  such  as 
might  have  walked  out  of  the  days  of  the  Prophet  Samuel, 
with  his  venerable  face,  long  white  beard,  high  forehead, 
refined  features,  graceful  robes,  and  very  soft  voice. 

"  Peace  be  on  you !  "  they  said. 

"  And  on  you,  too !  Welcome !  "  he  said,  and  motioned 
them  to  sit  on  the  divans  that  ran  round  the  walls. 

Then  Hafiz  explained  the  object  of  their  visit — how  Gor- 
don was  ordered  to  Alexandria  to  suppress  the  riots  there, 
and  if  need  be  to  arrest  the  preacher  who  was  supposed  to 
have  provoked  them. 

"  I  have  already  told  him,"  said  Hafiz,  "  that  so  far  as 
I  know  Ishmael  Ameer  is  no  firebrand,  but  hearing  through 
the  mouth  of  one  of  our  own  people  that  he  is  another 
Mahdi,  threatening  the  rule  of  England  in  Egypt " 

"  Oh,  peace,  my  son,"  said  the  Chancellor,  "  Ishmael 
Ameer  is  no  ]Mahdi.     He  claims  no  divinity." 

"  Then  tell  me,  0  Sheikh,"  said  Gordon,  "  tell  me  what 
Ishmael  Ameer  is,  that  I  may  know  what  to  do  when  it 
becomes  my  duty  to  deal  with  him." 

Leisurely  the  Chancellor  took  snuff,  leisurely  he  opened 
a  folded  handkerchief,  dusted  his  nostrils,  and  then,  in  his 
soft  voice,  said : 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  is  a  Ivoranist — that  is  to  say,  one  who 
takes  the  Koran  as  the  basis  of  belief  and  keeps  an  open 
mind  about  tradition." 

"  I  know,"  said  Gordon.  "  We  have  people  like  that 
among  Christians — people  who  take  the  Bible  as  the  basis 
of  faith  and  turn  their  backs  on  dogma." 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  reads  the  Koran  by  the  spirit,  not  the 
letter." 

"We  have  people  like  that,  too— the  letter  killeth,  you 
know,  the  spirit  maketh  alive." 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  47 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  thinks  Islam  should  advance  with  ad- 
vancing progress." 

"  There  again  we  are  with  you,  O  Sheikh.  We  have 
people  of  the  same  kind  in  Christianity'." 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  thinks  slavery,  the  seclusion  of  women, 
divorce,  and  polygamy  are  as  much  opposed  to  the  teaching 
of  Mohammed  as  to  the  progress  of  society." 

"Excellent!  My  father  says  the  same  thing.  ^Yallahi! 
(I  assure  you.)  Or  rather,  he  holds  that  Islam  can  never 
take  its  place  as  the  religion  of  great  progressive  nations 
until  it  rids  itself  of  these  evils." 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  thinks  the  corruptions  of  Islam  are  the 
work  of  the  partisans  of  the  old  barbaric  ideas  who  are 
associating  the  cause  of  religion  with  their  own  interests 
and  passions." 

"  Splendid !  Do  you  know  the  Consul-General  is  always 
saying  that,  sir? " 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  believes  that,  if  God  wills  it — praise 
be  to  be  Him,  the  Exalted  One! — the  day  is  not  distant 
when  an  appeal  to  the  Prophet's  own  words  will  regenerate 
Islam,  and  banish  the  caliphs  and  sultans  whose  selfish- 
ness and  sensuality  keep  it  in  bondage  to  the  powers  of 
darkness." 

"  Really,"  said  Gordon,  rising  impetuously  to  his  feet, 
"  if  Ishmael  Ameer  says  this,  he  is  the  man  Egypt,  India — 
the  whole  Mohammedan  world — is  waiting  for.  No  wonder 
men  like  the  Cadi  are  trying  to  destroy  him,  though  that's 
only  an  instinct  of  self-preseiwation — but  my  father,  the 
Consul-General  .  .  .  What  is  there  in  all  this  to  create  .  .  . 
Why  should  such  teaching  set  Moslem  against  Christian  ? " 

"Ishmael  Ameer,  oh,  my  brother,"  the  Chancellor  con- 
tinued, with  the  same  soft  voice,  "  thinks  Islam  is  not  the 
only  faith  that  has  departed  from  the  spirit  of  its  founder." 

"True!" 

"  If  Islam  for  its  handmaidens  has  divorce  and  polyg- 
amy, Christianity  has  drunkenness  and  prostitution." 

"No  doubt;  certainly." 

"  Coming  out  of  the  East,  out  of  the  desert,  Ishmael 
Ameer  sees  in  the  Christianitv  of  the  West  a  contradiction 


48  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

of  every  priuciple  for  which  your  great  Master  fought  and 
suffered." 

Gordon  sat  down  again. 

"  His  was  a  religion  of  peace,  but  while  your  Christian 
Church  prays  for  unity  and  concord  among  the  nations, 
your  Christian  States  are  daily  increasing  the  instruments 
of  destruction.  His  was  a  religion  of  poverty,  but  while 
your  Christian  priests  are  saying,  '  Blessed  are  the  meek,' 
your  Christian  communities  are  struggling  for  wealth  and 
trampling  upon  the  poor  in  their  efforts  to  gain  it.  Ish- 
mael  Ameer  believes  that  if  your  great  Master  came  back 
now  he  would  not  recognise  in  the  civilisation  known  by 
his  name  the  true  posterity  of  the  little,  faithful  church 
he  founded  on  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of  Galilee." 

"  All  this  is  true — too  true,"  said  Gordon ;  "  yet  under 
all  that  .  .  .  doesn't  Ishmael  Ameer  see  that  under  all 
that  .  .  ." 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  sees,"  said  the  Chancellor,  "  that  the 
thing  known  to  the  world  as  Christian  civilisation  is  little 
better  than  an  organised  hypocrisy,  a  lust  of  empire  in  na- 
tions, and  a  greed  of  gold  in  men,  destroying  liberty,  moral- 
ity, and  truth.  Therefore  he  warns  his  followers  against 
a  civilisation  which  comes  to  the  East  with  religion  in  one 
hand  and  violence  and  avarice  in  the  other." 

"  But  surely  he  sees,"  said  Gordon,  "  what  Christian 
civilisation  has  done  for  the  world,  what  science  has  done 
for  progress,  what  England,  for  example,  has  done  for 
Egypt  ? " 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  thinks,"  replied  the  Chancellor  in  the 
same  slow,  soft  voice,  "  that  the  essential  qualities  of  na- 
tional greatness  are  moral,  not  material;  that  man  does  not 
live  by  bread  alone ;  that  it  is  of  little  value  to  Egypt  if  her 
bams  are  full,  if  the  hearts  of  her  children  are  empty;  that 
Egypt  can  afford  to  be  patient,  for  she  is  old  and  eternal; 
that  many  are  the  events  which  have  passed  before  the  eyes 
of  the  crouching  Sphinx;  that  the  life  of  man  is  three  score 
and  ten  years,  but  when  Egypt  reviews  her  past  she  looks 
back  on  three  score  and  ten  centuries." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  during  which  the  muez- 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  49 

zin's  voice  was  heard  again,  calling  the  first  hour  of  night, 
and  then  Gordon,  visibly  agitated,  said: 

"  You  think  Ishmael  Ameer  a  regenerator,  a  reformer,  a 
redeemer  of  Islam;  and  if  his  preaching  prevailed  it  would 
send  the  Grand  Cadi  back  to  his  Sultan — isn't  that  so?" 
But  the  Chancellor  made  no  reply. 

"  It  would  also  send  England  out  of  Egypt — wouldn't 
it  ? "  said  Gordon,  but  still  the  Chancellor  gave  no  sign. 

"  It  would  go  farther  than  that,  perhaps ;  it  would  drive 
Western  civilisation  out  of  the  East — wouldn't  that  be  the 
end  of  it  ? "  said  Gordon,  and  then  the  Chancellor  replied : 

"  It  would  drive  a  corrupt  and  ungodly  civilisation  out 
of  the  world,  my  son." 

"  I  see,"  said  Gordon.  "  You  think  the  mission  of  Ish- 
mael Ameer  transcends  Egypt,  transcends  even  Europe,  and 
says  to  humanity  in  general,  *  What  you  call  civilisation  is 
killing  religion,  because  the  nations — Christian  and  Mos- 
lem alike — have  sold  themselves  to  the  lust  of  empire  and 
the  greed  of  gold.'    Isn't  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

The  Chancellor  bowed  his  gray  head  and,  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice,  said,  "  Yes." 

"  You  think,  too,"  said  Gordon,  whose  breathing  was  now 
quick  and  loud,  ''  that  Ishmael  Ameer  is  an  apostle  of  the 
soul  of  Islam — perhaps  of  the  soul  of  religion  itself,  without 
respect  of  creed;  one  of  the  great  men  who  come  once  in  a 
hundred  years  to  call  the  world  back  from  a  squalid  and 
sordid  materialism,  and  are  ready  to  live — aye.  and  to  die, 
for  their  faith — the  Savonarolas,  the  Luthers,  the  Gamal-ed- 
Deens — perhaps  the  Mohammeds,  and  " — dropping  his  voice 
— "  in  a  sense,  the  Christs  ?  " 

But  the  Egyptian  soul,  like  the  mirage  of  the  Egyptian 
desert,  recedes  as  it  is  approached,  and  again  the  Chan- 
cellor made  no  reply. 

"Tell  me,  O  Sheikh,"  said  Gordon,  rising  to  go,  "if 
Ishmael  Ameer  came  to  Cairo,  would  you  permit  him  to 
preach  in  El  Azhar  ?  " 

"  He  is  an  alim  (a  doctor  of  the  Koran)  ;  I  could  not 
prevent  him." 

"  But  would  you  lodge  him  in  your  own  house  ? " 


50  THE    WHITE    PKOPHET 

''  Yes." 

*'  That  is  enough  for  me.  Now  I  must  go  to  Alexandria 
and  see  him  for  myself." 

"  May  God  guide  you,  oh,  my  son,"  said  the  Chancellor, 
and  a  moment  afterward  his  soft  voice  was  saying  farewell 
to  the  two  young  soldiers  at  the  door. 

"  Let  us  walk  back  to  barracks,  Hafiz,"  said  Gordon. 
"My  head  aches  a  little,  somehow." 


VIII 

It  was  night  by  this  time,  the  courts  and  corridors  of 
El  Azhar  were  empty,  and  even  the  tangled  streets  out- 
side wore  less  loud  than  before  with  the  guttural  cries  of  a 
swarming  population;  but  a  rumbling  murmur  came  from 
the  mosque  of  the  University,  and  the  young  soldiers  stood 
a  moment  at  the  door  to  look  in.  There,  under  a  multi- 
tude of  tiny  lanterns,  stood  long  rows  of  men  in  stocking 
feet  and  Eastern  costume,  rising  and  kneeling  in  unison, 
at  one  moment  erect  and  at  the  next  with  foreheads  to  the 
floor,  while  the  voice  of  the  Iman  echoed  in  the  arches  of 
the  mosque  and  the  voices  of  the  people  answered  him. 

Then,  through  narrow  alleys  full  of  life,  lit  only  by 
the  faint  gleam  of  uncovered  candles,  with  native  women, 
black-robed  and  veiled,  passing  like  shadows  through  a 
moving  crowd  of  men,  the  young  soldiers  came  to  the  quar- 
ter of  Cairo  that  is  nicknamed  the  "  Fish  Market,"  where 
the  streets  are  brilliantly  lighted  up,  where  the  names  over 
the  shops  are  English  and  French,  Greek  and  Italian,  and 
where  girls  with  painted  faces  lean  out  of  the  windows  of 
upper  stories  and  smile  down  at  men  who  sit  at  tables  in 
front  of  the  cafes  opposite,  drinking  wine,  smoking  cigar- 
ettes, and  playing  dominoes.  The  sound  of  music  and 
dancing  came  from  the  open  windows  behind  the  girls,  who 
glittered  with  gold  brocade  and  diamonds,  and  among  the 
men  were  young  Egyptians  in  the  tarboosh  and  British  sol- 
diers in  khaki,  who  looked  up  at  the  women  in  the  flare  of 
the  coarse  light  and  laughed. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  51 

At  the  gate  of  the  Kasr  el  Nil  barracks  the  young  men 
parted. 

"  Tell  me,  Ilafiz/'  said  Gordon,  "  if  a  soldier  is  ordered 
to  act  in  a  way  he  believes  to  be  wrong,  what  is  he  to  do  ?  " 

"  His  duty,  I  suppose,"  said  Ilafiz. 

"  His  duty  to  what — his  commander  or  his  conscience  ?  " 

"  If  a  soldier  is  imder  orders  I  suppose  he  has  no  con- 
science." 

"  I  wonder !  "  said  Gordon,  and,  promising  to  write  to 
Hafiz  in  the  morning,  he  went  up  to  his  quarters. 

The  room  was  in  darkness,  save  for  the  moonlight  with 
its  gleam  of  mellow  gold,  which  seemed  to  vibrate  from  the 
river  outside,  and  Gordon  stood  by  the  window  with  a  dull 
sense  of  headache,  looking  at  the  old  Nile,  that  had  seen 
so  many  acts  in  the  drama  of  humanity  and  still  flowed 
so  silently,  until  he  became  conscious  of  a  perfume  he  knew, 
and  then,  switching  on  the  light,  he  found  a  letter  in  a 
scented  envelope  lying  on  his  desk.  It  was  from  Helena, 
and  it  was  written  in  her  bold,  upright  hand,  with  the  gay 
raillery,  the  passionate  tenderness,  and  the  fierce  earnest- 
ness which  he  recognised  as  her  chief  characteristics : 

"Mister,  most  glorious  and  respected,  the  illustrious 
Colonel  Lord,  owner  of  Serenity  and  Virtue,  otherwise  my 
dear  old  Gordon: 

"  It  was  wrong  of  you  not  to  come  to  dinner,  for  though 
father  over-excited  himself  at  Ghezirah  to-day  and  I  have 
had  to  pack  him  off  to  bed,  I  made  every  preparation  to 
receive  you,  and  here  I  am  in  my  best  bib  and  tucker,  wear- 
ing the  crown  of  pink  blossom  which  my  own  particular 
Sultan  says  suits  my  gipsy  hair,  and  nobody  to  admire  it 
but  my  poor  little  black  boy,  Mosie — who  is  falling  in  love 
with  me,  I  may  tell  you,  and  is  looking  at  me  now  with  his 
scrubby  face  all  blubbered  up  like  a  sentimental  hippo- 
potamus. 

"  I  am  not  surprised  that  the  Consul-General  talked 
about  the  new  'holy  man,'  and  I  do  not  wonder  that  he 
ordered  you  to  arrest  him.  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  why 
you  should  take  counsel  with  that  old  fossil  at  El  Azhar,  and 
you  can  tell  Master  Hafiz  I  mean  to  dust  his  jacket  for  sug- 


52  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

gesting  it,  knowing  your  silly  old  heart  is  like  wax  and  they 
have  only  to  recite  something  out  of  the  '  noble  Koran,' 
and  you'll  be  as  weak  as — well,  as  a  woman. 

"  As  for  holy  men  generally,  I  agree  with  the  Princess 
that  they  are  holy  humbugs,  which  is  the  title  I  would  give 
to  a  good  many  of  the  genus  at  home  as  well  as  here.  So 
I  say  with  your  namesake  of  glorious  memory  (who  wasn't 
an  ogre,  goodness  knows).  Smash  the  Mahdi! 

"  A  thousand  to  one  he  is  some  ugly,  cross-eyed  old 
fanatic  who  would  destroy  every  germ  of  civilisation  in 
Egypt  and  carry  the  country  back  to  barbarity  and  ruin,  so 
I  say  again,  Smash  the  Mahdi! 

"  As  for  your  '  conscience,'  I  cry,  marry-come-up,  by 
what  right  does  it  push  its  nose  where  it  isn't  wanted,  see- 
ing it  is  the  conscience  of  the  Consul-General  that  will  be 
damned  if  the  "work  is  wrong  and  wicked,  and  there  won't 
be  so  much  as  a  plum  of  Paradise  for  yours  if  it  is  right  and 
good,  so  once  again  I  say,  Smash  the  Mahdi! 

"  Moreover,  and  furthermore,  and  by  these  presents,  I 
rede  ye  beware  of  resisting  the  will  of  your  father;  for  if  you 
do,  as  sure  as  I'm  a  '  witch,'  and  '  know  things  without 
learning  them,'  I  have  a  *  mystic  sense '  there  will  be  trou- 
ble; and  nobody  can  say  where  it  will  end,  or  how  many 
of  us  may  be  involved  in  it.  So  again,  and  yet  again,  I 
say,  Smash  the  Mahdi! 

"  The  Consul-General's  letter  has  come,  but  I  shall  not 
read  it  to  father  until  morning;  and  meantime,  if  I  ever 
pass  through  your  imagination,  think  of  me  as  poor  Ruth 
sitting  on  the  threshing-floor  with  Boaz  and  dreaming  of 
Zion — that  is  to  say,  of  stuffy  old  El  Azhar,  where  somebody 
■who  ought  to  know  better  is  now  talking  to  an  old  frump  in 
petticoats  instead  of  to  me. 

^'Inshallah!    The  slave  of  your  Virtues. 

"  Helena. 

"  P.S. — Dying  for  to-morrow  afternoon,  dear. 
"P.P.S, — Important — Smash  the  Mahdi!" 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CKOSS  53 


IX 

Helena  Graves  was  everything'  to  her  father,  for  the 
General's  marriage  had  been  unhappy  and  it  had  come  to 
a  tragic  end.  His  vpife,  the  daughter  of  a  Jewish  merchant 
in  Madras,  had  been  a  woman  of  strong  character  and  great 
beauty  but  of  little  principle,  and  they  had  been  married 
v/hile  he  was  serving  as  senior  major  with  a  battalion  of 
his  regiment  in  India,  and  there  Helena,  their  only  child, 
had  been  born. 

Things  had  gone  tolerably  between  them  until  the  major 
returned  to  England  as  lieutenant-colonel  commanding  the 
battalion  of  his  regiment  at  home,  and  then,  in  their  little 
military  town,  they  had  met  and  become  intimate  with  the 
Lord-Lieutenant  of  the  county,  a  nobleman,  a  bachelor,  a 
sportsman,  a  bi'eeder  of  race-horses,  and  a  member  of  the 
Government. 

The  end  of  that  intimacy  had  been  a  violent  scene,  in 
which  the  husband,  in  his  ungovernable  rage,  had  flung 
the  nobleman  on  the  ground  and  trampled  on  him,  torn 
the  jewels  out  of  his  wife's  breast  and  crushed  them  under 
his  heel,*  and  then,  realising  the  bankruptcy  his  life  had 
come  to,  had  gone  home  and  had  brain-fever. 

Helena,  like  her  father,  was  passionate  and  impetuous, 
and  her  mother  had  neglected  and  never  really  loved  her. 
With  the  keen  eyes  of  a  child  who  is  supposed  to  see  noth- 
ing, she  had  seen  from  the  first  what  was  going  on  at  home, 
and  all  her  soul  had  risen  against  her  mother  and  her 
mother's  lover  with  a  hatred  which  no  presents  could  ap- 
pease. Being  now  a  girl  of  eighteen,  well  grown  and 
developed,  and  seeing  with  what  treachery  and  cruelty  her 
father  had  been  stricken  down,  her  heart  went  out  to  him, 
and  she  became  a  woman  in  one  day. 

When  the  brain-fever  was  gone  the  General,  weak  both 
in  body  and  mind,  was  ordered  rest  and  change.  Somebody 
suggested  the  Lake  country,  as  his  native  air,  so  Helena, 
who  did  everything  for  him,  took  him  to  a  furnished  cot- 


54  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

tage  in  Grasmere,  a  sweet  place  bowered  in  roses,  with  its 
face  to  the  sedgy  lake,  and  with  the  beautiful  river,  the 
Eotha,  laughing  and  babbling  by  the  garden  at  the  back. 

There  he  recovered  bodily  strength,  but  it  was  long  be- 
fore his  mind  returned  to  him,  and  meantime  he  had 
strange  delusions.  Something,  perhaps,  in  the  place  of  their 
retreat  brought  ghosts  of  the  past  out  of  a  world  of  shad- 
ows, for  he  thought  he  was  a  boy  again  and  Helena  was 
his  mother,  who  was  thirty  years  dead  and  buried  in  the 
little  churchyard  lower  down  the  stream,  where  the  Eotha 
was  deep  and  flowed  with  a  solemn  hush. 

Helena  played  up  to  his  pathetic  delusion,  took  the 
tender  endearments  that  were  meant  for  the  grandmother 
she  had  never  known,  and  as  his  young  days  came  to  the 
surface  with  the  beautiful  persistence  of  old  memories  in 
the  human  mind  she  fell  in  with  them  as  if  they  had  been 
her  own.  Thus  on  Sunday  morning,  when  the  bells  rang, 
she  would  walk  with  him  to  church,  holding  his  hand  in 
her  hand  as  if  she  were  the  mother  and  he  the  child. 

It  was  very  sweet  to  look  upon,  for  in  the  sleep  of  the 
General's  brain  he  was  very  happy,  and  only  to  those  who 
saw  that  the  brave  girl,  with  her  eyes  of  light  and  her  lips 
of  dew,  was  giving  away  her  youth  to  her  old  father,  was  it 
charged  with  feeling  too  deep  for  tears. 

But  at  length  the  stricken  man  came  out  of  the  twilight 
land  and  his  dream  faded  away.  Helena  had  to  play  their 
little  American  organ  every  evening  that  he  might  sing  a 
hymn  to  it,  for  that  was  what  his  mother  had  always  done 
when  she  was  putting  her  boy  to  bed  and  thinking,  like  a 
soldier's  wife,  of  his  father  who  was  away  at  the  wars.  It 
was  always  the  same  hymn,  and  one  breathless  evening, 
when  the  sun  had  gone  down  and  the  vale  was  still,  thej 
had  come  to: 

"Hide    ine,    O    my    Saviour,    hide, 
Till  tlifi  storms  of  life  be  past — " 

and  then  his  voice  stopped  suddenly,  and  he  shaded  his  eyes 
as  if  something  were  blinding  them. 

At  that  moment  the  past  which  had  been  dead  so  long 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  55 

seemed  to  rise  from  its  grave  with  all  its  mournful  inci- 
dents— his  wife  and  his  shattered  home — and  Helena  was 
not  his  mother  but  his  daughter,  and  he  was  not  a  happy 
boy  but  an  old  soldier  with  a  broken  life  behind  him. 

Seeing  by  the  look  in  his  eyes  that  he  was  coming  to 
himself,  Helena  tried  to  comfort  him,  and  when  he  gasped, 
"  Who  is  it  ?  "  she  answered,  in  a  voice  she  tried  to  render 
cheerful.  "  It  is  I ;  it  is  Helena.  Don't  you  know  me, 
father  ?  "  And  then  the  years  rolled  back  upon  him  like  a 
flood  and  he  sobbed  on  her  shoulder. 

The  awakening  had  been  painful,  but  it  was  not  all 
pain.  If  he  had  lost  a  wife  he  had  gained  a  daughter,  and 
she  was  the  strongest,  stanchest  creature  in  the  world.  For 
her  sake  he  must  begin  again.  Having  had  so  much  shadow 
in  her  young  life  she  must  now  have  sunshine.  Thus  Hel- 
ena became  her  father's  idol,  the  one  thing  on  earth  to 
him,  and  he  was  more  to  her  than  a  father  usually  is  to  a 
daughter,  because  she  had  seen  him  in  his  weakness  and 
mothered  him  back  to  strength. 

Two  years  after  the  breakdown  they  were  in  London, 
and  there  Helena  met  Lord  Nuneham  on  one  of  his  few 
Tisits  to  England.  The  great  Proconsul,  who  had  heard  what 
she  had  done,  was  most  favourably  impressed  by  her,  and  as 
she  talked  to  him  he  said  to  himself,  "  This  girl  has  the 
blood  of  the  great  women  of  the  Bible,  the  Deborahs  who 
were  mothers  in  Israel,  aye,  and  the  Jaels  who  revenged 
her."  At  that  time  the  post  of  Major-General  to  the  Brit- 
ish Army  in  Egypt  was  shortly  to  become  vacant,  and  by 
Lord  Nuneham's  influence  it  was  offered  to  Graves.  Six 
months  later  father  and  daughter  arrived  in  Cairo. 

It  had  been  an  exciting  time,  but  Helena  had  managed 
everything,  and  the  General  had  borne  up  manfully  until 
they  took  possession  of  the  house  assigned  to  them,  a  reno- 
vated old  palace  on  the  edge  of  the  Citadel.  Then  in  a 
moment  he  had  collapsed  and  fallen  from  his  chair  to  the 
floor.  Helena  had  lifted  him  in  her  strong  arms,  laid  him 
on  the  couch,  and  sent  his  aide-de-camp  for  the  medical 
officer  in  charge. 

Consciousness  came   back  quickly,   and  Helena   laughed 


56  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

through  the  tears  that  had  gathered  in  her  great  eyes,  but 
the  Surgeon  continued  to  look  grave. 

"  Has  the  General  ever  had  attacks  like  this  before  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  Never  that  I  know  of,"  said  Helena. 

"  He  must  be  kept  quiet.     I'll  see  him  in  the  morning." 

Next  day  the  medical  officer  had  no  doubts  of  his  diag- 
nosis— heart  disease,  quite  unmistakably.  The  news  had  to 
be  broken  to  the  General,  and  he  bore  it  bravely,  but,  think- 
ing of  Helena,  he  made  one  request — that  nothing  should 
be  said  on  the  subject.  If  the  fact  were  known  at  the  War 
Office  he  might  be  retired,  and  there  could  be  no  necessity 
for  that  until  the  Army  was  put  on  active  service. 

"  But  isn't  the  Army  always  on  active  service  in  Egypt, 
sir?"  said  the  Surgeon. 

"  Technically,  perhaps — not  really,"  said  the  General. 
"  In  any  case,  I'm  not  afraid,  and  I  ask  you  to  keep  the 
matter  quiet." 

"  As  you  please,  sir." 

"  You  and  I  and  Helena  must  be  the  only  ones  to  know 
anything  about  it." 

"  Very  well,  but  you  must  promise  to  take  care.  Any 
undue  excitement,  any  over-exertion,  any  outburst  of  anger 
even " 

"It  shall  not  occur;  I  give  you  my  word  for  it,"  said 
the  General. 

But  it  had  occurred,  not  once  but  frequently,  during 
the  twelve  months  following.  It  occurred  after  Gordon 
asked  for  Helena,  and  again  last  night,  the  moment  the 
General  reached  his  bedroom  on  his  return  from  the  Khe- 
divial  Club. 

He  was  better  next  morning,  and  then  Helena  took  up 
the  letter  from  Lord  Nuneham.  "  Read  it,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, and  Helena  read: 

"Dear  General:  Gordon  is  here,  and  I  will  send  him  up 
to  tell  you  what  I  think  it  necessary  to  do  in  order  to  put 
an  end  to  the  riots  at  Alexandria  and  make  an  example  of 
the  ringleaders. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  57 

"  The  chief  of  them  is  the  Arab  preacher,  Ishmael  Ameer, 
and  I  propose  that  we  bring  him  up  to  Cairo  immediately, 
try  him.  by  special  tribunal,  and  despatch  him  without  delay 
to  our  new  penal  settlement  in  the  Soudan. 

"  For  that  purpose  (as  the  local  police  are  chiefly  native, 
and  therefore  scarcely  reliable,  and  your  colonel  on  the  spot 
might  hesitate  to  act  on  his  own  initiative  in  the  possible 
event  of  a  rising  of  the  man's  Moslem  followers)  I  propose 
that  you  send  some  one  from  Cairo  to  take  command,  and 
therefore  suggest  Gordon,  your  first  staff  officer,  and  the  most 
proper  person  (always  excepting  yourself)  to  deal  with  a 
situation  of  such  gravity. 

"  Yours  in  haste, 

"  NUNEHAM." 

While  Helena  was  reading  the  letter  the  General  could 
hardly  restrain  his  excitement. 

"  Just  as  I  thought !  "  he  said.  "  I  knew  the  Consul- 
General  would  put  down  that  new  Mahdi.  Wonderful  man, 
ISTuneham !  And  what  a  chance  for  Gordon !  By  Gad,  he'll 
have  all  Europe  talking  about  him.  He  deserves  it,  though. 
Ask  the  staff.  Ask  the  officers.  Ask  the  men.  I  see  what 
Nuneham's  aiming  at — making  Gordon  his  successor !  Well 
why  not?  Why  not  Gordon  Lord,  the  Consul-General  ?  I 
ask,  why  not?  Good  for  Egypt  and  good  for  England,  too. 
Am  I  wrong  ?  " 

Then,  remembering  to  whom  he  was  addressing  these 
imperative  challenges,  he  laughed  and  said :  "  Ah,  of  course ! 
I  congratulate  you,  my  child!  I'll  live  to  see  you  proud 
and  happy  yet,  Helena.    Now  go — I'm  going  to  get  up." 

And  when  Helena  warned  him  that  he  was  over-exciting 
himself  again,  he  said :  "  Not  a  bit  of  it,  I'm  all  right 
now;  but  I  must  write  to  Alexandria  immediately  and  see 
Gordon  at  once.  Coming  up  this  afternoon,  you  say  ?  That 
will  do.  Splendid  fellow !  Fine  as  his  father !  Father  and 
son — both  splendid !  " 


58  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


When  Gordon  reached  the  General's  house  at  five  o'clock 
that  day  there  was  for  a  while  a  clash  of  opposing  wills. 
Thinking  of  Helena's  peremptory  advice,  Smash  the  Mahdil 
he  was  determined  to  tell  her  what  the  Chancellor  of  El 
Azhar  had  said  of  Ishmael  Ameer,  and  she  was  resolved 
that  he  should  say  nothing  about  him.  So,  while  Gordon 
stood  by  the  shaded  window,  looking  down  on  the  city  below, 
which  still  lay  hot  under  the  sun's  fierce  eye,  Helena  talked 
of  his  mother,  her  father,  and  of  the  Princess  Nazimah, 
who  had  invited  her,  in  a  funnj-  letter,  to  join  the  ladies' 
council  for  the  emancipation  of  Egyptian  women  and  the 
abolition  of  polygamy,  saying,  among  other  things,  "  The 
needle  carries  but  one  thread,  my  dear,  and  the  heart  cannot 
carry  two."    But  at  length  she  said : 

"  When  do  you  leave  for  Alexandria  ?  " 

"  To-night  at  half -past  six.  My  servant  is  to  take  my 
bag  to  the  railway  station,  and  Hafiz  and  two  other  Mos- 
lems are  to  meet  me  there." 

"  Good  gracious !  No  time  to  lose,  then.  Mosie !  "  she 
cried,  and  a  small  black  boy  with  large,  limpid  eyes,  wear- 
ing a  scarlet  caftan  and  blue  waistband,  came  into  the 
room. 

"  Tea,  Mosie,  quick !  Tell  the  cook  the  Colonel  has  to 
catch  a  train." 

The  black  boy  kissed  her  hand  and  went  bounding  out, 
whereupon  she  talked  again  to  prevent  Gordon  from  talking. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  boy  was  falling  in  love  with 
me?  I  found  him  fighting  in  the  market-place.  That  was 
a  week  ago,  since  when  he  has  adopted  me,  and  now  he  is 
always  kissing  my  hand  or  the  hem  of  my  gown,  as  who 
would  say — '  I  have  none  but  her,  and  I  love  her  like  my 
eyes.'  A  most  dear  little  human  dog,  and  I  do  believe — yes, 
T  really  do  believe — if  I  wished  it  he  would  go  to  his  death 
for  me." 

Gordon,   who   was   gloomy   and   dejected,   and   had   been 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  59 

drumming    on    the    window-pane    without    listening,    then 
said: 

"  Helena,  can  you  imagine  what  it  is  to  a  soldier  to 
feel  that  he  is  on  the  wrong  side  in  battle?  If  he  is  to 
fight  well  he  ought  to  feel  that  he  is  fighting  for  his  coun- 
try, his  flag,  and — ^justice.  But  when  the  position  is  the 
reverse  of  that ;   when,  for  example " 

But  at  that  moment  the  General  came  into  the  room 
and  welcomed  Gordon  with  a  shout. 

"  Just  been  writing  to  Alexandria  telling  Jenkinson  to 
keep  a  force  in  readiness  for  you  night  and  day,"  he  said. 
"  Only  way,  my  boy !  Force  is  the  one  thing  the  Easterns 
understand.  Of  course,  we  don't  want  bloodshed,  but  if 
these  rascals  are  telling  the  people  that  the  power  is  not  in 
our  hands,  or  that  England  will  not  allow  us  to  use  it,  we 
must  let  them  see — we  can't  help  it.  Glorious  commission, 
Gordon !  I  congratulate  you !  My  job,  though,  and  there's 
only  one  man  I  could  give  it  up  to — only  one  man  in  the 
world." 

And  then  Gordon,  who  had  been  biting  his  underlip, 
said,  "  I  almost  wish  you  could  do  it  yourself,  General," 

"  Why,  what  the  deuce " 

"  Gordon  has  been  taking  counsel  with  the  Chancellor 
of  El  Azhar,"  said  Helena,  "  and  the  old  silly  seems  to  have 
given  him  '  the  eye,'  or  talked  nonsense  out  of  the  noble 
Koran." 

"  Not  nonsense,  Helena,  and  not  out  of  the  Koran,  but 
out  of  the  book  of  life  itself,"  said  Gordon,  and  after  the 
black  boy  had  brought  in  the  tea  he  told  them  what  the 
Chancellor  had  said. 

"  So  you  see,"  he  said,  "  the  preaching  of  this  new 
prophet  has  nothing  to  do  with  England  in  Egypt — nothing 
more,  at  least,  than  with  England  in  India,  or  South  Af- 
rica, or  even  Canada  itself.  It  transcends  all  that,  and  is 
teaching  for  the  world,  for  humanity.  Isn't  it  true,  too? 
Take  what  he  says  about  the  lust  of  empire,  and  look  at  the 
conduct  of  the  Christian  countries.  They  are  praying  in 
their  churches  '  that  it  may  please  Thee  to  give  to  all 
nations  unity,  peace,  and  concord,'  yet  they  are  increasing 


60  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

their  armaments  every  day,  what  for — defence?  Certainly! 
But  "what  does  that  mean  ? — fear  of  aggression.  So  while  in 
our  Kings'  speeches  and  our  Presidents'  messages,  in  our 
newspapers  and  even  in  our  pulpits  we  keep  up  the  pretence 
that  we  are  at  peace  with  the  world,  we  are  always,  according 
to  the  devil's  code  of  honour,  preparing,  for  the  time  when 
two  high-spirited  nations  may  find  it  convenient  to  fly  at 
each  other's  throats.  Peace  with  the  world!  Lies,  sir;  all 
lies,  and  barefaced  hypocrisy !  The  nations  never  are  at 
peace  with  the  world,  never  have  been,  never  want  to  be." 

The  General  tried  to  protest,  but  Gordon,  who  was  now 
excited,  said: 

"  Oh,  I  know — I'm  a  soldier,  too,  sir,  and  I  don't  want  to 
see  my  country  walked  upon.  It  may  be  all  right,  all  nec- 
essary to  the  game  of  empire,  but,  for  Heaven's  sake,  let 
us  call  it  by  its  proper  name — Conquest,  not  Christianity 
— and  put  away  the  cant  and  quackery  of  being  Christian 
countries." 

Again  the  General  tried  to  protest,  but  Gordon  did  not 
hear. 

"  Think  of  it !  Kaisers  and  Kings  and  Presidents  asking 
God's  blessing  on  their  Ministers  of  "War!  Bishops  and 
Archbishops  praying  for  more  battleships!  Christians? 
Followers  of  Christ  ?  Why,  in  the  name  of  God,  do  they  not 
tear  the  scales  from  their  eyes  and  stand  revealed  to  them- 
selves as  good,  upright,  honest,  honourable  Pagans,  bent  on 
the  re-paganisation  of  the  world  and  the  destruction  of 
Christian  civilisation?  I'm  a  soldier,  yes,  but  I  hope  to 
Heaven  I'm  not  a  hypocrite,  and  show  me  the  soldier  worth 
his  salt  who  is  not  at  heart  a  man  of  peace." 

The  General's  face  was  growing  scarlet,  but  Gordon  saw 
nothing  of  that. 

"  Then  take  what  this  new  preacher  says  about  the  greed 
of  wealth — isn't  that  true,  too?  We  pretend  to  believe  that 
'  it  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle 
than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  God,'  yet 
we  are  nearly  all  trying,  struggling,  fighting,  scrambling  to 
be  rich." 

He  laughed  out  loud  and  then  said: 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  61 

"  Look  at  America — I'm  half  an  American  myself,  sir, 
so  I've  a  right  to  say  it — where  a  man  may  become  a  mil- 
lionaire by  crushing  out  everybody  else  and  appropriating 
the  gifts  of  nature  which  God  meant  for  humanity.  But 
America  is  a  Christian  country,  too,  and  its  richest  men 
build,  of  their  abundance,  churches  in  which  to  glorify  the 
widow's  mite !  Is  the  man  to  be  silenced  who  warns  the  world 
that  such  sordid  and  squalid  materialism  is  swallowing  up 
religion,  morality,  and  truth?  Such  a  man  may  be  the  very 
soul  of  a  country,  yet  what  do  we  do  with  him?  We  hang 
him,  or  stone  him,  or  crucify  him — that's  what  we  do  with 
him,  sir." 

Gordon,  who  had  been  walking  up  and  down  the  room 
and  talking  in  an  intense  and  poignant  voice,  stopped  sud- 
denly and  said : 

"  General,  did  you  ever  reflect  upon  the  way  in  which 
Jesus  Christ  was  brought  to  his  death  ?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  man,  what  has  that  subject  to  do  with 
this  ?  "  said  the  General. 

"  A  good  deal,  I  think,  sir.  Did  you  ever  ask  yourself 
who  it  was  that  betrayed  Jesus  ? " 

"  Judas  Iscariot,  I  suppose." 

"No,  sir;  Judas  was  only  the  cat's-paw,  scorned  through 
all  the  ages  and  burnt  in  a  million  effigies,  but  nearly  as 
innocent  of  the  death  of  his  Master  as  you  or  I.  The  real 
betrayer  was  the  high  priest  of  the  Jews.  He  was  the  head 
of  the  bad  system  which  Christ  came  to  wipe  out,  and  he 
saw  that  if  he  did  not  destroy  Jesus,  Jesus  would  destroy 
him.  What  did  he  do?  He  went  to  the  Governor,  the 
Consul-General  of  the  Roman  Occupation,  and  said :  '  This 
man  is  setting  himself  up  against  Caesar.  If  you  let  him 
go  you  are  not  Caesar's  friend.' " 

"Well?" 

"That's  what  the  High  Priest  of  Islam  is  doing  in 
Egypt  now.  As  I  was  going  into  the  Ag-ency  yesterday 
I  met  the  Grand  Cadi  coming  out.  You  know  what  he  is, 
sir — the  most  fanatical  supporter  of  the  old  dark  ways — 
slavery,  divorce,  polygamy,  all  the  refuse  of  bad  Mohamme- 
danism? " 


62  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"Well,  well?" 

"  Well,  my  father  told  me  the  Grand  Cadi  had  said,  '  If 
you  let  Ishmael  Ameer  go  on  it  will  be  death  to  the  rule 
of  England  in  Eg^'pt.'  " 

"  And  what  does  it  all  come  to  ? " 

"  It  comes  to  this,  sir — that  if  the  Chancellor  of  El 
Azhar  has  told  me  the  truth — if,  I  say,  if — when  we  take 
Ishmael  Ameer,  and  shut  him  up  in  prison  for  life  with  noth- 
ing but  a  desert  around  him,  we  shall  be  doing  something 
that  bears  an  ugly  resemblance  to  what  the  Romans  did  in 
Palestine." 

Then  the  General,  who  had  not  once  taken  his  eyes  off 
Gordon,  rose  in  visible  agitation  and  said: 

"  Gordon  Lord,  you  astonish  me !  If  Avhat  you  say  means 
anything,  it  means  that  this  man  Ishmael  is  not  only 
preaching  sedition,  but  is  justified  in  doing  so.  That's 
what  you  mean  ?    Am  I  wrong  ?  " 

In  his  excitement  he  spoke  so  rapidly  that  he  stam- 
mered, and  Helena  cried,  "Father!" 

"  Leave  me  alone,  Helena.  I'm  calm ;  but  when  a  man 
talks  of  .  .  .  When  you  talk  of  conquest  you  mean  Eng- 
land in  Egypt — yes,  you  do — and  you  refuse  to  see  that 
we  have  to  hold  high  the  honour  of  our  country,  and  to 
protect  our  dominions  in  the  East." 

His  voice  sounded  choked,  but  he  went  on : 

"  More  than  that,  when  you  compare  our  Lord's  trial 
and  death  with  that  of  this — this  half-educated  Arab  out 
of  the  desert — this  religious  Don  Quixote  who  is  a  menace, 
not  only  to  government  but  to  the  very  structure  of  civilised 
society — it's  shocking,  it's  blasphemous,  and  I  will  not  lis- 
ten to  it." 

The  General  was  going  out  in  white  anger  when  he 
stopped  at  the  door  and  said : 

"  Gordon  Lord,  I  take  leave  to  think  this  man  an  im- 
postor— a  scheming  impostor,  and  if  you  want  my  view  of 
how  to  deal  with  him,  and  with  the  credulous  simpletons 
who  are  turning  sedition  into  crime  and  crime  into  bloody 
anarchy,  I  give  it  to  you — martial  law,  sir,  and  no  damned 
nonsense ! " 


THE   CRESCENT   AND    THE    CROSS  63 

Save  for  one  word,  Helena  had  not  yet  spoken,  but  now 
with  tightly  compressed  lips,  and  such  an  expression  on  her 
face  as  Gordon  had  never  before  seen  there,  she  said : 

"  I  hate  that  man  !     I  hate  him  !     I  hate  him !  " 

Her  eyes  blazed  and  she  looked  straight  into  Gordon's 
face,  as  she  said :  "  I  hate  him  because  you  are  allowing 
yourself  to  be  influenced  in  his  favour  against  your  own 
father  and  your  own  country.  An  Englishman's  duty  is  to 
stand  by  England,  whatever  she  is  and  whatever  she  does*. 
And  the  duty  of  an  English  soldier  is  to  fight  for  her  and 
ask  no  questions.  She  is  his  mother,  and  to  inquire  of 
himself  whether  she  is  right  or  "wrong,  when  her  enemies 
are  upon  her,  is  not  worthy  of  a  son." 

The  colour  rushed  to  Gordon's  face  and  he  dropped  his 
head. 

"  As  for  this  man's  teaching,  it  may  transcend  Egypt, 
but  it  includes  it,  and  these  people  will  take  out  of  it  only 
what  they  want,  and  what  they  want  is  an  excuse  to  resist 
authority  and  turn  their  best  friends  out  of  the  country. 
As  for  you,"  she  said,  with  new  force,  "  your  duty  is  to  go 
to  Alexandria  and  bring  this  man  back  to  Cairo.  It  begins 
and  ends  there,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  anything  else." 

Then  Gordon  raised  his  head  and  answered :  "  You  are 
right,  Helena.  You  are  always  right.  A  son  is  not  the 
judge  of  his  father.  And  where  would  England  be  to-day 
if  her  soldiers  had  always  asked  themselves  whether  she  was 
in  the  right  or  the  wrong?  I  thought  England  would  be 
sinning  against  the  light  if  she  sent  Ishmael  Ameer  to  the 
Soudan  and  so  stifled  a  voice  that  might  be  the  soul  of 
the  East ;  but  I  know  nothing  about  him  except  what  his 
friends  have  told  me.  .  .  .  After  all,  grapes  don't  grow 
on  pine  trees,  and  the  only  fruit  we  see  is  .  .  .  I'll  see  the 
man  for  myself,  Helena,  and  if  I  find  he  is  encouraging  the 
rioters  ...  if  even  in  his  sermons  in  the  mosques  .  .  . 
Hafiz  and  the  ]\Ioslems  are  to  tell  me  what  he  says  in  them. 
.  .  .  They  must  tell  me  the  truth,  though  .  .  .  Whatever 
the  consequences  .  .  .  they  must  tell  me  the  truth.  They 
shall — my  God,  they  must!^' 


64  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


XI 

The  clock  struck  six,  and  Gordon  rose  to  go.  Helena 
helped  him  to  belt  up  the  sword  he  had  taken  off  and  to 
put  on  his  military  great-coat.  Then  she  threw  a  lace 
scarf  over  her  head  and  went  out  with  him  into  the  garden, 
that  they  might  bid  good-bye  at  the  gate. 

The  sun  was  going  down  by  this  time,  the  odourless  air 
of  the  desert  was  cooler  and  fresher  than  before,  and  all 
Nature  was  full  of  a  soothing  and  blissful  peace. 

"  Don't  go  yet ;  you  have  a  few  minutes  to  spare  still. 
Come,"  said  Helena,  and  taking  his  hand  she  drew  him  to  a 
blossom-thatched  arbour  which  stood  on  the  edge  of  the 
ramparts. 

There,  with  the  red  glow  on  their  faces  as  on  the  face 
of  the  great  mosque  which  stood  in  conscious  grandeur  by 
their  side,  they  looked  out  in  silence  for  some  moments  on 
the  glittering  city,  the  gleaming  Nile,  the  yellow  desert,  and 
all  the  gloi-y  of  the  sky. 

It  was  just  that  mysterious  moment  between  day  and 
night  when  the  earth  seems  to  sing  a  silent  song  which 
only  the  hvunan  heart  can  hear,  and,  stirred  by  an  emotion 
she  could  scarcely  understand,  Helena,  who  had  been  so 
brave  until  now,  began  to  tremble  and  break  down,  and  the 
woman  in  her  to  appear. 

"  Don't  think  me  foolish,"  she  said,  "  but  I  feel — I  feel 
as  if — as  if  this  were  the  last  time  you  and  I  were  to  be 
together." 

"  Don't  unman  me,  Helena,"  said  Gordon.  "  The  work 
I  have  to  do  in  Alexandria  may  be  dangerous,  but  don't 
tell  me  you  are  afraid " 

"  It  isn't  that.  I  shouldn't  be  fit  to  be  a  soldier's  daugh- 
ter or  to  become — to  become  a  soldier's  wife  if  I  were  afraid 
of  that.  No,  I'm  not  afraid  of  that,  Gordon.  I  shall  never 
allow  myself  to  be  afraid  of  that,  but " 

"But  what,  Helena?" 

"I  feel  as  if  something  has  broken  between  you  and  me, 
and  we  shall  never  be  the  same  to  each  other  after  to-night. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  65 

It  frightens  me.  You  are  so  near,  yet  you  seem  so  far 
away.  Coming  out  of  the  house  a  moment  ago  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  to  take  farewell  of  you,  here  and  now." 

Without  more  ado  Gordon  took  her  firmly  in  his  arms, 
and  with  one  hand  on  her  forehead  that  he  might  look  full 
in  her  face,  he  said: 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  Helena,  for  what  I  said 
to  your  father  just  now  ?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no.  You  were  speaking  out  of  your  heart,  and 
perhaps  it  was  partly  that " 

"  You  didn't  agree  with  me,  I  know  that  quite  well,  but 
you  love  me  still,  Helena  ? " 

"  Don't  ask  me  that,  dear." 

"  I  must ;  I  am  going  away,  so  speak  out,  I  entreat  you. 
You  love  me  still,  Helena  ? " 

"  I  am  here.  Isn't  that  enough  ?  "  she  said,  putting  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  laying  her  head  on  his  breast. 

He  kissed  her,  and  there  was  silence  for  some  momenta 
more.     Then  in  a  sharp,  agitated  whisper  she  said: 

"  Gordon,  that  man  is  coming  between  us." 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  utter  absurdity,  Helena  !  " 

"No,  I'm  telling  you  the  truth.  That  man  is  coming 
between  us.  I  know  it — I  feel  it — something  is  speaking 
to  me — warning  me.  Listen!  Last  night  I  saw  it  in  a 
dream.  I  cannot  remember  what  happened,  but  he  was 
there,  and  you  and  I.  and  your  father  and  mine,  and 
then " 

"  My  dear  Nell,  how  foolish !  But  I  see  what  has  hap- 
pened. When  did  you  receive  the  Princess  Nazimah'a 
letter?" 

"Last  night — just  before  going  to  bed." 

"  Exactly !  And  you  were  brooding  over  what  she  said 
of  the  needle  carrying  only  one  thread  ? " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  it — yes." 

"You  were  also  thinking  of  what  you  had  said  yourself 
in  your  letter  to  me — that  if  I  resisted  my  father's  will  the 
results  might  be  serious  for  all  of  us  ? " 


66  THE   T\^ITE    PROPHET 

"  That,  too,  perhaps." 

"  There  you  are,  then — there's  the  stuff  of  your  dream, 
dear.  But  don't  you  see  that  whatever  a  man's  opinions 
and  sympathies  may  be,  his  affections  are  a  different  matter 
altogether — that  love  is  above  everything-  else  in  a  man's 
life — yes,  everything — and  that  even  if  this  Ishmael  Ameer 
were  to  divide  me  from  my  father  or  from  your  father — 
which  God  forbid ! — he  could  not  possibly  separate  me  from 
you?" 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes  and  said — there  was  a  smile 
on  her  lips  now — "  Could  nothing  separate  you  and  me?  " 

"  Nothing  in  this  world,"  he  answered. 

Her  trembling  lips  fluttered  up  to  his,  and  again  there 
was  a  moment  of  silence.  The  sun  had  gone  down,  the  stars 
had  begun  to  appear,  and  under  the  mellow  gold  of  mingled 
night  and  day  the  city  below,  lying  in  the  midst  of  the 
desert,  looked  like  a  great  jewel  on  the  soft  bosom  of  the 
world. 

"  You  must  go  now,  dear,"  she  whispered. 

"  And  you  will  promise  me  never  to  think  these  ugly 
thoughts  again  ?  " 

" '  Love  is  above  everything.'  I  shall  only  think  of  that. 
Good-bye ! " 

"Good-bye!"  he  said,  and  he  embraced  her  passionately. 
At  the  next  moment  he  was  gone. 

Shadows  from  the  wing  of  night  had  gathered  over  the 
city  by  this  time,  and  there  came  up  from  the  heart  of  it  a 
surge  of  indistinguishable  voices,  some  faint  and  far  away, 
some  near  and  loud,  the  voices  of  the  muezzins  calling  from 
a  thousand  minarets  to  evening  prayers — and  then  came 
another  voice  from  the  glistening  crest  of  the  great  mosque 
on  the  ramparts,  clear  as  a  clarion  and  winging  its  way 
through  the  upper  air  over  the  darkening  mass  below: 

"  God  is  Most  Great!    God  is  Most  Great!  " 


■^EZ^ 


^:V 


■^2- 


AL-LA-nUAK-BAK.  AL-LA    -     -      nu  AK-BAR. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  67 


XII 

At  half-past  six  Gordon  was  at  the  railway-station.  He 
found  his  soldier-seiwant  halfway  down  the  platform,  on 
which  blue-shirted  porters  bustled  to  and  fro,  holding  open 
the  door  of  a  compartment  labelled  "  Reserved."  He  found 
Hafiz,  also,  and  with  him  were  two  pale-faced  Egyptians, 
in  the  dress  of  Sheikhs,  who  touched  their  foreheads  as 
Gordon  approached. 

"  These  are  the  men  you  asked  for,"  said  Hafiz. 

Gordon  shook  hands  with  the  Egyptians,  and  then,  stand- 
ing between  them,  with  one  firm  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
each  and  the  light  of  an  electric  arc  lamp  in  their  faces, 
he  said: 

"  You  know  what  you've  got  to  do,  brothers  ? " 

"  We  know,"  the  men  answered. 

"  The  future  of  Egypt,  perhaps  of  the  East,  may  depend 
upon  what  you  tell  me — you  will  tell  me  the  truth  ?  " 

"  We  will  tell  you  the  truth.  Colonel." 

"  If  the  man  we  are  going  to  see  should  be  condemned 
on  your  report  and  on  my  denunciation,  you  may  suffer 
at  the  hands  of  his  followers.  Protect  you  as  I  please,  you 
may  be  discovered,  followed,  tracked  down — you  have  no 
fear  of  the  consequences  ?  " 

"  We  have  no  fear,  sir." 

"  You  are  prepared  to  follow  me  into  any  danger  ? " 

"  Into  any  danger." 

"To  death,  if  need  be?" 

"  To  death,  if  need  be,  brother." 

"  Step  in,  then,"  said  Gordon. 

At  the  next  moment  there  was  the  whistle  of  the  locomo- 
tive, and  then,  slowly,  rhythmically,  with  its  heavy,  volcanic 
throb  shaking  the  platform  and  rumbling  in  the  glass  roof, 
the  train  moved  out  of  the  station  on  its  way  to  Alexandria. 


68  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


XIII 

IsHMAEL  Ameer  was  the  son  of  a  Libyan  carpenter  and 
boat  builder,  who,  shortly  before  the  daj's  of  the  Mahdi,  had 
removed  with  his  family  to  Ivhartoum.  His  earliest  mem- 
ory was  of  the  solitary  figure  of  the  great  white  pasha  on 
the  roof  of  the  palace,  looking  up  the  jSI^ile  for  the  relief 
army  that  never  arrived,  and  of  the  same  white-headed  Eng- 
lishman, with  the  pale  face,  who,  walking  to  and  fro  on  the 
sands  outside  the  palace  garden,  patted  his  head  and  smiled. 

His  next  memory  was  of  the  morning  after  the  fall  of 
the  desert  city,  when,  awakened  by  the  melancholy  moan  of 
the  great  onbeya,  the  elephant's  horn  that  was  the  trumpet 
of  death,  he  heard  the  hellish  shrieks  of  the  massacre  that 
was  going  on  in  the  streets,  and  saw  his  mother  lying  dead 
in  front  of  the  door  of  the  inner  closet  in  which  she  had 
hidden  her  child,  and  found  his  father's  body  on  the  outer 
threshold. 

He  was  seven  years  of  age  at  this  time,  and  being'  adopted 
by  an  uncle,  a  merchant  in  the  town,  who  had  been  rich 
enough  to  buy  his  own  life,  he  was  sent  in  due  course  first 
to  the  little  school  of  the  mosque  in  Khartoum,  and  after- 
ward, at  eighteen,  to  El  Azhar,  in  Cairo,  where,  with  other 
poor  students,  he  slept  in  the  stifling  rooms  under  the  flat 
roof,  and  lived  on  the  hard  bread  and  the  jars  of  cheese  and 
butter  which  were  sent  to  him  from  home. 

Within  four  years  he  had  passed  the  highest  examina- 
tion at  the  Arabic  University,  taking  the  rank  of  alim  (doc- 
tor of  Koranic  divinity),  which  entitled  him  to  teach  and 
preach  in  any  quarter  of  the  Mohammedan  world,  and  then, 
equally  by  reason  of  his  rich  voice  and  his  devout  mind,  he 
was  made  Reader  in  the  mosque  of  El  Azhar. 

Morality  was  low  among  the  governing  classes  at  that 
period,  and  when  it  occurred  that  the  Grand  Cadi,  who  was 
a  compound  of  the  Eastern  voluptuary  and  the  libertine  of 
the  Parisian  boulevards,  marrying  for  the  fourth  time,  made 
a  feast  that  went  on  for  a  week,  in  which  the  days  were 
spent  in  eating  and  drinking  and  the  nights  in  carousing 


THE    CRESCENT    AXD    THE    CROSS  69 

of  an  unsaintly  character,  the  orgy  so  shocked  the  young 
alim  from  the  desert  that  he  went  down  to  the  great  man's 
house  to  protest. 

"  IIow  is  this,  your  Eminence  ?  "  he  said,  stoutly.  "  The 
Koran  teaches  temperance,  chastity,  and  contempt  of  the 
things  of  the  world — yet  you,  who  are  a  tower  and  a  light 
in  Islam,  have  darkened  our  faces  before  the  infidel." 

So  daring  an  outrage  on  the  authority  of  the  Cadi  had 
never  been  committed  before,  and  Ishmael  was  promptly 
flung  into  the  streets;  but  the  matter  made  some  noise  and 
led,  in  the  end,  to  the  expulsion  of  all  the  governors  (the 
Ulema)  of  the  University  except  the  one  man  who,  being 
the  first  cause  of  the  scandal,  was  also  the  representative  of 
the  Sultan,  and  therefore  could  not  be  charged. 

Meantime  Ishmael,  returning  no  more  to  El  Azhar,  had 
settled  himself  on  an  island  far  up  the  river,  and  there,  prac- 
tising extreme  austerities,  he  gathered  a  great  reputation  for 
holiness,  and  attracted  attention  throughout  the  valley  of  the 
Nile  by  breathing  out  threatenings  and  slaughter — not  so 
much  against  the  leaders  of  his  own  people,  who  were  de- 
grading Islam,  as  against  the  Christians  under  whose  hated 
bondage,  as  he  believed,  the  whole  Mohammedan  world  was 
going  mad. 

So  wide  was  the  appeal  of  Ishmael's  impeachment,  and  so 
vast  became  his  following,  that  the  government  (now  Anglo- 
Egyptian),  always  sure  that  after  sand-storms  and  sand-flies 
holy  men  of  all  sorts  were  the  most  pernicious  products  of 
the  Soudan,  thought  it  necessary  to  put  him  down,  and 
for  this  purpose  they  sent  two  companies  of  Arab  camel 
police,  promising  a  reward  to  the  one  that  should  capture 
the  new  prophet. 

The  two  camel  corps  set  out  on  different  tracks,  but 
each  resolving  to  take  Ishmael  by  night,  they  entered  his 
village  at  the  same  time  by  opposite  ends,  met  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  fought  and  destroyed  one  another,  so  that  when 
morning  dawned  they  saw  their  leaders  on  both  sides  lying 
dead  in  the  crimsoning  light. 

The  gruesome  incident  had  the  effect  of  the  supernatural 
on  the  Arab  intellect,  and  when  Ishmael  and  his  followers, 
6 


70  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

with  nothing  but  a  stick  in  one  hand  and  the  Koran  in  the 
other,  came  down  with  a  roar  of  voices  and  the  sand  whirling 
in  the  wind,  the  native  remnant  turned  tail  and  fled  before 
the  young  prophet's  face. 

Then  the  Governor-General,  an  agnostic  with  a  contempt 
for  "  mystic  senses  "  of  all  kinds,  sent  a  ruckling,  swearing, 
unbelieving  company  of  British  infantry,  and  they  took 
Ishmael  without  further  trouble,  brought  him  up  to  Khar- 
toum, put  him  on  trial  for  plotting  against  the  Christian 
Governor  of  his  province,  and  imprisoned  him  in  a  com- 
pound outside  the  town. 

But  soon  the  Government  began  to  see  that,  though  they 
had  crushed  Ishmael,  they  could  not  crush  Ishmaelism,  and 
they  lent  an  ear  to  certain  of  the  leaders  of  his  own  faith, 
judges  of  the  Mohammedan  law  courts,  who,  having  put 
their  heads  together,  had  devised  a  scheme  to  wean  him  from 
his  asceticism,  and  so  destroy  the  movement  by  destroying 
the  man.  The  scheme  was  an  old  one,  the  wiles  of  a  woman, 
and  they  knew  the  very  woman  for  the  purpose. 

This  was  a  girl  named  Adila,  a  Copt,  only  twenty  years 
of  age,  and  by  no  means  a  voluptuous  creature,  but  a  little, 
winsome  thing,  very  sweet  and  feminine,  always  freshly  clad 
and  walking  barefoot  on  the  hot  sand  with  an  erect  con- 
fidence that  was  beautiful  to  see. 

Adila  had  been  the  daughter  of  a  Christian  merchant  at 
Assouan,  and  there,  six  years  before,  she  had  been  kidnapped 
by  a  Bisharin  tribe,  who,  answering  her  tears  with  rough 
comfort,  promised  to  make  her  a  queen. 

In  their  own  way  they  did  so,  for,  those  being  the  dark 
days  of  Mahdism,  they  brought  her  to  Omdurman  and  put 
her  up  to  auction  in  the  open  slave-market,  where  the  black 
eunuch  of  the  Caliph,  after  thrusting  his  yellow  fingers 
into  her  mouth  to  examine  her  teeth,  bought  her,  among 
other  girls,  for  his  master's  harem. 

There,  with  forty  women  of  varying  ages,  gathered  by 
concupiscence  from  all  quarters  of  the  Soudan,  she  was 
mewed  up  in  the  close  atmosphere  of  two  sealed  chambers 
in  the  Caliph's  crudely  gorgeous  palace,  seeing  no  more  of 
her  owner  than  his  coffee-coloured  countenance  as  he  passed 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  71 

once  a  day  through  the  curtained  rooms,  and  signalled  to 
one  or  other  of  their  bedecked  and  beringleted  occupants  to 
follow  him  do^\Ti  a  hidden  stairway  to  his  private  quarters. 
At  such  moments  of  inspection  Adila  would  sit  trembling 
and  breathless,  in  dread  of  being  seen,  and  she  found  her 
companions  only  too  happy  to  help  her  to  hide  herself  from 
the  attentions  they  were  seeking  for  themselves. 

This  lasted  nearly  a  year,  and  then  came  a  day  when 
the  howling  in  the  streets  outside,  the  wailing  of  shells 
overhead,  and  the  crashing  of  cannon-ball  in  the  dome  of 
the  Mahdi's  tomb,  told  the  imprisoned  women,  who  were 
creeping  together  in  corners  and  clinging  to  each  other  in 
terror,  that  the  English  had  come  at  last,  and  the  Caliph 
had  fallen  and  fled. 

When  Adila  was  set  at  liberty  by  the  English  Sirdar,  she 
learned  that,  in  grief  at  the  loss  of  their  daughter,  her  par- 
ents had  died,  and  so,  ashamed  to  return  to  Assouan,  after 
being  a  slave-girl  in  Omdurman,  she  took  service  with  a 
Greek  widow  who  kept  a  bakery  in  Khartoum.  It  was  there 
the  Sheikhs  of  the  law  courts  found  her,  and  they  proceeded 
to  coax  and  flatter  her,  telling  her  she  had  been  a  good  girl 
who  had  seen  much  sorrow,  and  therefore  ought  to  know 
some  happiness  now,  to  which  end  they  had  found  a  husband 
to  marry  her,  and  he  was  a  fine,  handsome  man,  young  and 
learned  and  rich. 

At  this,  Adila,  remembering  the  Caliph,  and  thinking 
that  such  a  person  as  they  pictured  could  only  want  her  as 
the  slave  of  his  bed,  turned  sharply  upon  them  and  said, 
"  When  did  I  ask  you  to  find  me  a  man  ? "  and  the  Sheikhs 
had  to  go  back  discomfited. 

Meantime  Ishmael,  raving  against  the  Christians,  who 
were  corrupting  Mohammedans  while  he  was  lying  help- 
less in  his  prison,  fell  into  a  fever,  and  the  Greek  mistress 
of  Adila,  hearing  who  had  been  meant  for  her  handmaiden, 
and  fearing  the  girl  might  think  too  much  of  herself,  began 
to  taunt  and  mock  her. 

"They  told  you  he  was  rich,  didn't  they?"  said  the 
widow.  "Well,  he  has  no  bread  but  what  the  Government 
gives  him,  and  he  is  in  chains  and  he  is  dying,  and  you 


72  THE    WHITE    PKOPHET 

would  only  have  had  to  nurse  him  and  bury  him.  That's 
all  the  husband  you  would  have  got,  my  girl,  so  perhaps  you 
are  better  off  where  you  are." 

But  the  widow's  taunting  went  wide,  for  as  soon  as  Adila 
had  heard  her  out  she  went  across  to  the  Mohammedan 
court-house  and  said: 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  it  was  Ishmael  Ameer  you 
meant  ?  " 

The  Sheikhs  answered  with  a  show  of  shame  that  they 
had  intended  to  do  so  eventually,  and  if  they  had  not  done 
so  at  first  it  was  only  out  of  fear  of  frightening  her. 

"He's  sick  and  in  chains,  isn't  he?"  said  Adila. 

They  admitted  that  it  was  true. 

"  He  may  never  come  out  of  prison  alive — isn't  that  so  ?  " 

They  could  not  deny  it. 

"  Then  I  want  to  marrj^  him,"  said  Adila. 

"What  a  strange  girl  you  are!"  said  the  Sheikhs,  but 
without  more  ado  the  contract  was  made  while  Ishmael  was 
so  sick  that  he  knew  little  about  it,  the  marriage  document 
was  drawn  up  in  Ishmael's  name,  Adila  signed  it,  half  her 
dowry  was  paid  to  her,  and  she  promptly  gave  the  money 
to  the  poor.    . 

Xext  day  Ishmael  was  tossing  on  his  angerib  in  the 
mud-hut  which  served  for  his  cell  when  he  saw  his  Soudan- 
ese guard  come  in,  followed  by  four  women,  and  the  first 
of  them  was  Adila,  carrying  a  basketful  of  cakes,  such  as 
are  made  in  that  country  for  a  marriage  festival.  One  mo- 
ment she  stood  over  him  as  he  lay  on  his  bed  with  what 
seemed  to  be  the  dews  of  death  on  his  forehead,  and  then, 
putting  her  basket  on  the  ground,  she  slipped  to  her  knees  by 
his  side  and  said : 

"I  am  Adila.  I  belong  to  you  now  and  have  come  to 
take  care  of  you." 

"  Why  do  you  come  to  me? "  he  answered.  "  Go  away.  I 
don't  want  you." 

"  But  we  are  married  and  I  am  your  wife,  and  I  am 
here  to  nurse  you  until  you  are  well,"  she  said. 

"  I  shall  never  be  well,"  he  replied.  "  1  am  dying  and 
will  soon  be  dead.    W^hy  should  you  waste  your  life  on  me. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  73 

my  girl?  Go  away  and  God  bless  you!  Praise  to  His 
name !  " 

With  that  she  kissed  his  hand  and  her  tears  fell  over  it, 
but  after  a  moment  she  wiped  her  eyes,  rose  to  her  feet, 
and,  turning  briskly  to  the  other  women,  she  said: 

"  Take  your  cakes  and  be  off  with  you — I'm  going  to 
stay." 


XIV 

Three  weeks  long-er  Ishmael  lay  in  the  grip  of  his  fever, 
and  day  and  night  Adila  tended  him,  moistening  his  parched 
lips  and  cooling  his  hot  forehead,  while  he  raged  against  his 
enemies  in  his  strong  delirium,  crying,  "  Down  with  the 
Christians !  Drive  them  away !  Kill  them !  "  Then  the 
thunging  and  roaring  in  his  poor  brain  ceased,  and  his 
body  was  like  a  boat  that  had  slid  in  an  instant  out  of  a 
stormy  sea  into  a  quiet  harbour.  Opening  his  eyes,  with 
his  face  to  the  red  wall,  in  the  cool  light  of  a  breathless 
morning,  he  heard  behind  him  the  soft  and  mellow  voice  of 
a  woman  who  seemed  to  be  whispering  to  herself  or  to 
Heaven,  and  she  was  saying: 

"  Forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  them  that  tres- 
pass against  us,  and  lead  us  not  into  temptation  but  de- 
liver us  from  evil,  for  Thine  is  the  kingdom,  the  power, 
and  the  glory.     Amen." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  asked,  closing  his  eyes  again ;  and  at 
the  next  moment  the  mellow  voice  came  from  somewhere 
above  his  face : 

"  So  you  are  better  ?  Oh,  how  good  that  is !  I  am  Adila, 
Don't  you  remember  me  (  " 

"  What  was  that  you  were  saying,  my  girl  ?  " 

"That?  Oh,  that  was  the  prayer  of  the  Lord  Isa 
(Jesus)." 

"The  Lord  Isa?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Long  ago  my  father  told  me  about 
Him,  and  I've  not  forgotten  it  even  yet.  He  was  only  a 
poor  man,  a  poor  Jewish  man,  a  carpenter,  but  He  was  so 


74  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

good  that  He  loved  all  the  world,  especially  sinful  women 
when  they  were  sorry,  and  little,  helpless  children.  He  never 
did  harm  to  his  enemies  either,  but  people  were  cruel  and 
they  crucified  Him.  And  now  He  is  in  heaven,  sitting  at 
God's  right  hand,  with  Mary,  His  mother,  beside  Him." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then : 

"  Say  His  prayer  again,  Adila." 

So  Adila,  with  more  constraint  than  before,  but  still 
softly  and  sweetly,  began  afresh: 

"  Our  Father  Who  art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy  name; 
Thy  kingdom  come;  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in 
heaven;  give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread,  and  forgive  us 
our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against 
us ;  and  lead  us  not  into  temptation  but  deliver  us  from 
evil;  for  Thine  is  the  kingdom,  the  power,  and  the  glory. 
Amen." 

Thus  the  little  Coptic  woman,  in  her  soft  and  mellow 
voice,  said  her  Lord's  Prayer  in  that  mud-hut  on  the  edge 
of  the  desert,  with  only  the  sick  man  to  hear  her,  and  he 
was  a  prisoner  and  in  chains;  but  long  before  she  had  fin- 
ished Ishmael's  face  was  hidden  in  his  bedclothes  and  he 
was  crj'ing  like  a  child. 

There  were  three  weeks  more  of  a  painless  and  dreamy 
convalescence,  in  which  Adila  repeated  other  stories  her 
father  had  told  her,  and  Ishmael  saw  Christianity  for  the 
first  time  as  it  used  to  be,  and  wondered  to  find  it  a  faith 
so  sweet  and  so  true,  and,  above  all,  save  for  the  character 
of  Jesus,  so  like  his  own. 

Then  a  new  set  of  emotions  took  possession  of  him,  and 
with  returning  strength  he  began  to  see  Adila  with  fresh 
eyes.  He  loved  to  look  at  her  soft,  round  form,  and  he 
found  the  air  of  his  gloomy  prison  full  of  perfume  and  light 
when  she  walked  with  her  beautiful  erect  bearing  and  smil- 
ing blue  eyes  about  his  bed.  Hitherto  she  had  slept  on  a 
mattress  which  she  had  laid  out  on  the  ground  by  the  side 
of  his  angerib,  but  now  he  wished  to  change  places,  and 
when  nothing  would  avail  with  her  to  do  so  he  would  stretch 
out  his  arm  at  night  until  their  hands  met  and  clasped,  and 
thus  linked  together  they  would  fall  asleep. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  75 

At  length  he  -would  awake  in  the  darkness,  not  being 
able  to  sleep  for  thinking  of  her,  and  finding  one  night  that 
she  was  awake,  too,  he  said  in  a  tremulous  voice : 

"  Will  you  not  come  on  to  the  angerib,  Adila  ?  " 

"  Should  I  ? "  she  whispered,  and  she  did. 

Next  day  the  black  Soudanese  guard  that  had  been  set 
to  watch  him  reported  to  the  Mohammedan  Sheikhs  that  the 
devotee  had  been  swallowed  up  in  the  man,  whereupon  the 
Sheikhs,  with  a  chuckle,  reported  the  same  to  the  Govern- 
ment, and  then  Ishmael  with  certain  formalities  was  set 
free. 

At  the  expense  of  his  uncle  a  house  was  found  for  him 
outside  the  town,  for,  in  contempt  of  his  weakness  in  being 
tricked,  as  his  people  believed,  by  a  Coptic  slave-girl,  his 
following  had  gone  and  he  and  Adila  were  to  be  left  alone. 
Little  they  recked  of  that,  though,  for  in  the  first  sweet  joys 
of  husband  and  wife  they  were  very  happy,  talking  in  deli- 
cious whispers  and  with  the  frank  candour  of  the  East  of 
the  child  that  was  to  come.  He  was  sure  it  would  be  a 
girl,  so  they  agreed  to  call  it  Ayesha  (Mary),  she  for  the 
sake  of  the  sinful  soul  who  had  washed  her  Master's  feet 
with  her  tears  and  wiped  them  with  the  hair  of  her  head, 
and  he  in  memory  of  the  poor  Jewish  woman,  the  mother  of 
Isa,  whose  heart  had  been  torn  with  grief  for  the  sorrows 
of  her  son. 

But  when  at  length  came  their  day  of  days,  at  the  height 
of  their  happiness  a  bolt  fell  out  of  a  cloudless  sky,  for 
though  God  gave  them  a  child,  and  it  was  a  girl.  He  took 
the  mother  in  place  of  it. 

She  made  a  brave  end,  the  sweet  Coptic  woman,  only 
thinking  of  Ishmael  and  holding  his  hand  to  cheer  him.  It 
was  noon,  the  sun  was  hot  outside,  and  in  the  cool  shade 
of  the  courtyard  three  Moslems  chanted  the  Islamee  la  II- 
laha,  for  so  much  they  could  do  even  for  the  infidel,  while 
Ishmael  sat  within  on  one  side  of  his  wife's  angerib,  with 
his  uncle,  seventy  years  of  age  now,  on  the  other.  She  was 
too  weak  to  speak  to  her  husband,  but  she  held  up  her  mouth 
to  him  like  a  child  to  be  kissed.  A  moment  later  the  old  man 
closed  her  eyes,  and  said: 


76  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Be  comforted,  my  son — death  is  a  black  camel  that 
kneels  at  the  gate  of  all." 

There  were  no  women  to  wail  outside  the  house  that 
night,  and  next  day,  when  Adila  had  to  be  buried,  it  was 
neither  in  the  Mohammedan  cemetery  with  those  who  had 
"  received  direction,"  nor  in  the  Christian  one  with  Eng- 
lish soldiers  who  had  fallen  in  fight,  that  the  slave-wife  of 
a  prisoner  could  be  laid,  but  out  in  the  open  desert  where 
there  was  nothing  save  the  sand  and  the  sky. 

They  laid  her  with  her  face  to  Jerusalem,  wrapped  in  a 
cocoa-nut  mat,  and  i)ut  a  few  thorns  over  her  to  keep  off 
the  eagles,  and  when  this  was  done  they  would  have  left 
her,  saying  she  would  sleep  cool  in  her  soft  bed,  for  a  warm 
wind  was  blowing  and  the  sun  was  beginning  to  set,  but 
Ishmael  would  not  go. 

In  his  sorrow  and  misery,  his  doubt  and  darkness,  he 
was  asking  himself  whether,  if  his  poor  Coptic  wife  was 
doomed  to  hell  as  an  unbeliever,  he  could  ever  be  happy  in 
heaven.  The  moon  had  risen  when  at  length  they  drew  him 
away,  and  even  then  in  the  stillness  of  the  lonely  desert 
he  looked  back  again  and  again  at  the  dark  patch  on  the 
white  waste  of  the  wilderness  in  which  he  was  leaving  her 
behind  him. 

Xext  morning  he  took  the  child  from  the  midwife's  arms, 
and,  carrj-ing  it  across  to  his  uncle,  he  asked  him  to  take 
care  of  it  and  bring  it  up,  for  he  was  leaving  Khartoum 
and  did  not  know  how  long  he  might  be  away.  Where  was 
he  going  to  ?  lie  could  not  say.  Had  he  any  money  ?  Xone, 
but  God  would  provide  for  him. 

"  Better  stay  in  the  Soudan  and  marry  another  woman, 
a  believer,"  said  his  uncle,  and  then  Ishmael  answered,  in  a 
quivering  voice : 

"  Xo,  no,  by  Allah  I  One  wife  I  had,  and  if  she  was  a 
Christian  and  was  once  a  slave,  I  loved  her,  and  never — 
never — shall  another  woman  take  her  place." 

He  was  ten  years  away,  and  only  at  long  intervals  did 
anybody  hear  of  him,  and  it  was  sometimes  from  Mecca, 
sometimes  from  Jerusalem,  sometimes  from  liome,  and 
finally  from  the  depths  of  the  Libyan  desert.     Then  he  re- 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  77 

appeared  at  Alexandria,  and,  entering  a  little  mosque,  he 
exercised  his  right  as  alim  and  went  up  into  the  pulpit  to 
preach. 

His  teaching  was  like  fire,  and  men  were  like  fuel  before 
it.  Day  by  day  the  crowds  increased  that  came  to  hear  him, 
until  Alexandria  seemed  to  be  aflame,  and  he  had  to  remove 
to  the  large  mosque  of  Abou  Abbas  in  the  square  of  the 
same  name. 

Such  was  the  man  whom  Gordon  Lord  was  sent  to  arrest. 


XV 

"  Headquarters,  Caracol  Attarin,  Alexandria. 

"  My  dearest  Helena  :  I  have  seen  my  man  and  it  is 
all  a  mistake!  I  can  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  so — a 
mistake!  Wallahi!  Ishmael  Ameer  is  not  the  cause  of  the 
riots  which  are  taking  place  here — never  has  been,  never 
can  be.  And  if  his  preaching  should  ever  lead  by  any  in- 
direct means  to  sporadic  outbursts  of  fanaticism  the  fault 
will  be  ours — ours,  and  nobody  else's. 

"  Colonel  Jenkinson  and  the  Commandant  of  Police  met 
me  on  my  arrival.  It  seems  my  coming  had  somehow  got 
wind,  but  the  only  effect  of  the  rumour  had  been  to  increase 
the  panic,  for  even  the  conservative  elements  among  the 
Europeans  had  made  a  run  on  the  gunsmiths'  shops  for 
firearms  and — could  you  believe  it? — on  the  chemists'  for 
prussic  acid,  to  be  used  by  their  women  in  case  of  the  worst. 

"  Next  morning  I  saw  my  man  for  the  first  time.  It 
was  outside  Abou  Abbas,  on  the  toe  of  the  East  port,  where 
the  native  population,  with  quiet  Eastern  greeting,  of  hands 
to  the  lips  and  forehead,  were  following  him  from  his  lodg- 
ing to  the  mosque. 

"My  dear  girl,  he  is  not  a  bit  like  the  man  you  im- 
agined. Young — as  young  as  I  am,  at  all  events — tall,  very 
tall  (his  head  showing  above  others  in  a  crowd),  with  clean- 
cut  face,  brown  complexion,  skin  soft  and  clear,  hands  like 
a  woman's,   and   large,  beaming   black   eyes   as  frank   as   a 


78  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

child's.  His  dress  is  purely  Oriental,  being  white  through- 
out, save  for  the  red  slippers  under  the  caftan  and  the 
tip  of  the  tarboosh  above  the  turban.  No  mealy-mouthed 
person,  though,  but  a  spontaneous,  passionate  man,  careless 
alike  of  the  frowns  of  men  and  the  smiles  of  women,  a 
real  type  of  the  Arab  out  of  the  desert,  uncorrupted  by  the 
cities,  a  man  of  peace,  perhaps,  but  full  of  deadly  fire  and 
dauntless  energy. 

"  My  dear  Helena,  I  liked  my  first  sight  of  Ishmael 
Ameer,  and  thinking  I  saw  in  him  some  of  the  barbarous 
virtues  we  have  civilised  away,  some  of  the  fine  old  stuff 
of  the  Arab  nobleman  who  would  light  his  beacon  to  guide 
you  to  his  tent  even  if  you  were  his  worst  enemy,  I  could 

not  help  but  say  to  myself,  '  By  ,  here's  a  man  I  want 

to  fight ! ' 

"  As  soon  as  he  had  gone  intp  the  mosque  I  sent  Hafiz 
and  the  two  Egyptians  after  him  by  different  doors,  with 
strict  injunctions  against  collusion  of  any  kind,  and  then 
went  off  to  the  police  headquarters  in  the  Governorat  to 
await  their  report.  Hafiz  himself  was  the  first  to  come  to 
me,  and  he  brought  a  circumstantial  story.  Not  a  word  of 
sedition,  not  a  syllable  about  the  Christians,  good,  bad,  or 
indifferent!  Did  the  man  flatter  the  Moslems?  Exactly 
the  reverse !  Never  had  Hafiz  heard  such  a  rating  of  a  con- 
gregation even  from  a  Mohammedan  preacher. 

"  The  sermon  had  been  on  the  degradation  of  woman  in 
the  East,  which  the  preacher  had  denounced  as  a  disgrace  to 
their  humanity.  Christians  believed  it  to  be  due  to  their 
faith,  but  what  had  degraded  woman  in  Mohammedan 
countries  was  not  the  Mohammedan  religion  but  the  peo- 
ple's own  degradation. 

"  *  I  dreamt  last  night,'  he  said,  '  that  in  punishment  of 
your  offences  against  woman  God  lifted  the  passion  of  love 
out  of  the  heart  of  man.  What  a  chaos !  A  cockpit  of  sel- 
fishness and  sin !  Woman  is  meant  to  sweeten  life,  to  bind 
its  parts  together — will  you  continue  to  degrade  her?  Fools, 
are  you  wiser  than  God,  trying  to  undo  what  He  has 
done  ? ' 

"  Such  was  Ishmael's  sermon,  as  Hafiz  reported  it,  and 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  79 

■when  the  Egyptians  came  their  account  was  essentially  the 
same;  but  just  at  the  moment  when  I  was  asking  myself 
what  there  could  be  in  teaching  like  this  to  set  Moslem 
against  Christian,  tinkle-tinkle  went  the  bell  of  the  tele- 
phone, and  the  Commandant  of  Police,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing with  a  supercilious  smile,  seemed  to  take  a  certain  joy 
in  telling  me  that  his  inspector  in  the  quarter  of  Abou 
Abbas  was  calling  for  reinforcements  because  a  fresh  dis- 
turbance had  broken  out  there. 

"  In  three  minutes  I  was  on  the  spot,  and  the  first  thing 
I  saw  was  the  white  figure  of  Ishmael  Ameer  lashing  his 
way  through  a  turbulent  crowd,  whereupon  the  Command- 
ant, who  was  riding  by  my  side,  said,  '  See  that  ?  Are  you 
satisfied  now,  sir?'  to  which  I  answered,  'Don't  be  a  fool,' 
with  a  stronger  word  to  drive  it  home,  and  then  made  for 
the  middle  of  the  throng. 

"  It  was  all  over  before  I  got  there,  for  Christians  and 
Moslems  alike  were  flying  before  Ishmael's  face,  and,  with- 
out waiting  for  a  word  of  thanks,  he  was  gone,  too,  and  in 
another  moment  the  square  was  clear,  save  for  a  dozen 
men,  native  and  European,  whom  the  police  had  put  under 
arrest. 

"  With  these  rascals  I  returned  to  the  Governorat  and 
investigated  the  riot,  which  turned  out  to  be  a  very  petty 
affair,  originating  in  an  effort  on  the  part  of  a  couple  of 
low-class  Greeks  to  attend  to  the  Scriptural  injunction  to 
spoil  the  Egyptians  by  robbing  a  shop  (covered  only  by  a 
net)  while  its  native  owner  was  in  the  mosque. 

"  Next  morning  came  a  letter  from  Ishmael  Ameer,  be- 
ginning, '  In  the  name  of  God,  the  Compassionate,  the  Mer- 
ciful,' but  otherwise  written  without  preamble  or  circum- 
locution, saying  he  was  aware  that  certain  incidents  in  con- 
nection with  his  services  had  assumed  an  anti-Christian 
aspect,  and  begging  to  be  permitted,  in  the  interests  of 
peace  and  in  order  to  give  a  feeling  of  security  to  Euro- 
peans, to  preach  openly  at  noon  the  next  day  in  the  square 
of  Mohammed  Ali. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you,  my  dear  Helena,  that  everybody 
at  the  Governorat  thought  the  letter  a  piece  of  appalling 


80  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

effrontery,  and,  of  course,  the  Commandant — who  is  one  of 
the  good  Christians,  with  a  rooted  contempt  for  anything 
in  a  turban  (forgetting  that  Jesus  Christ  probably  wore 
one) — made  himself  big  with  phrases  out  of  Blue  Books 
about  the  only  way  to  suppress  disorder  being  to  refuse  to 
let  sedition  show  its  head.  But  I  have  never  been  afraid  of 
a  mob,  and,  thinking  the  situation  justified  the  experiment, 
I  advised  the  Governor  to  let  the  man  come. 

"  One  thing  I  did,  though,  my  dear  Helena,  and  that 
was  to  dictate  a  pretty  stiff  reply,  saying  I  should  be  present 
myself  with  a  battalion  of  soldiers,  and  if,  instead  of  pacify- 
ing the  people,  he  aggravated  their  hostility,  I  shovild  make 
it  my  personal  business  to  see  that  he  would  be  the  first 
to  suffer. 

"  That  night  all  the  world  and  his  wife  declared  that  I 
was  fishing  in  troubled  waters,  and  I  hear  that  some  brave 
souls  fled  panic-stricken  by  the  last  train  to  Cairo,  where 
they  are  now,  I  presume,  preferring  their  petitions  at  the 
Agency;  but  next  morning  (that  is  to  say,  this  morning)  the 
air  was  calmer,  and  the  great  square,  when  I  reached  it,  was 
as  quiet  as  an  inland  sea. 

"  It  was  a  wonderful  sight,  however,  with  the  First  Suf- 
folk lining  the  east  walls,  and  the  Second  Berkshire  lining 
the  west ;  and  the  overflowing  Egyptian  and  European  popu- 
lace between,  standing  together  yet  apart,  like  the  hosts  of 
Pharaoh  and  of  Israel  with  the  Red  Sea  dividing  them. 

"  I  rode  up  with  Jenkinson  a  little  before  tAvelve,  and  I 
think  the  people  saw  that,  though  we  had  permitted  this 
unusual  experiment  in  the  interests  of  peace,  we  meant  busi- 
ness. A  space  had  been  kept  clear  for  Ishmael  at  the  foot 
of  the  statue  of  the  great  Khedive,  and  hardly  had  the  last 
notes  of  the  midday  call  to  prayers  died  away  when  our 
man  arrived.  He  was  afoot,  quite  unattended,  walking  with 
an  active  step  and  that  assured  nobility  of  bearing  which 
belongs  to  the  Arab  blood  alone.  He  bowed  to  me,  with  a 
simple  dignity  that  had  not  a  particle  either  of  fear  or 
defiance,  and  agaio.  Heaven  knows  why,  I  said  to  myself, 
*  By  ,  I  want  to  fight  that  man ! ' 

"  Then  he  stepped  on  to  the  angerib  that  had  been  placed 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  81 

for  him  as  a  platform  and  began  to  speak.     His  first  words 
were  a  surprise,  being  in  English,  and  faultlessly  spoken : 

" '  The  earth  and  the  sky  are  full  of  trouble,  God  has 
afflicted  us;  praise  to  His  name,'  he  began,  and  then,  point- 
ing to  the  warships  that  were  just  visible  in  the  bay,  he 
cried : 

" '  Men  who  are  watching  the  heavens  and  who  speak 
with  authority  tell  us  that  great  conflicts  are  coming  among 
the  nations  of  the  world.  Why  is  it  so?  What  is  dividing 
us?  Is  it  race?  We  are  the  sons  of  one  Father.  Is  it 
faith?  It  is  the  work  of  religion  not  only  to  set  men  free, 
but  to  bind  them  together.  Our  Prophet  says :  "  Thou  shalt 
love  thy  brother  as  thyself,  and  never  act  toward  him  but 
as  thou  wouldst  that  he  should  act  toward  thee."  The  Gos- 
pel of  Jesus  Christ  and  the  Law  of  Moses  say  the  same. 
The  true  Christian  is  the  true  Moslem — the  true  Moslem 
is  the  true  Jew.  All  that  is  right  in  religion  includes  itself 
in  one  commandment — love  one  another!  Then,  why  war- 
fare between  brethren  so  near  akin  ? ' 

"  His  voice,  my  dear  Helena,  was  such  as  I  had  never 
in  my  life  heard  before.  It  throbbed  with  the  throb  that 
is  peculiar  to  the  voice  of  the  Arab  singer  and  seems  to  go 
through  you  like  an  electric  current.  His  sermon,  too, 
which  was  sometimes  in  English,  sometimes  in  Arabic,  the 
two  languages  so  intermingled  that  the  whole  vast  congre- 
gation of  the  cosmopolitan  seaport  seemed  to  follow  him 
at  once,  was  not  like  preaching  at  all,  but  vehement,  enthu- 
siastic, extempore  prayer. 

"  I  have  sent  a  long  account  of  it  to  the  Consul-General, 
so  I  dare  say  you  will  see  what  it  contained.  It  was  the 
only  preaching  I  have  ever  heard  that  seemed  to  me  to  de- 
serve the  name  of  inspiration.  Sedition?  In  one  passage 
alone  did  it  so  much  as  skirt  the  problem  of  England  in 
Egypt,  and  then  there  was  a  spirit  in  the  man's  fiery  words 
that  was  above  the  finest  patriotism.  Speaking  of  the  uni- 
versal hope  of  all  religions,  the  hope  of  a  time  to  come 
when  the  Almighty  will  make  all  the  faiths  of  the  world 
one  faith,  and  all  the  peoples  of  the  world  one  people,  he 
said: 


82  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

" '  In  visions  of  the  night  I  see  that  promised  day,  and 
what  is  our  Egj'pt  then?  She,  the  oldest  of  the  nations, 
who  has  seen  so  many  centuries  of  persecution  and  shame, 
trodden  under  the  heel  of  hard  taskmasters,  and  buried  in 
the  sands  of  her  deserts,  what  is  she?  She  is  the  meeting- 
place  of  nations,  the  hand-clasp  of  two  worlds,  the  inter- 
preter and  the  peacemaker  between  East  and  West.  We 
can  never  be  a  great  nation — let  us  be  a  good  one.  Is  it 
not  enough?  Look  around!  We  stand  amid  ruins  half  as 
old  as  the  earth  itself — is  it  not  worth  waiting  for?' 

"  Then  in  his  last  word,  speaking  first  in  Arabic  and 
afterward  in  English,  he  cried: 

" '  0  men  of  many  races,  be  brothers  one  to  another ! 
God  is  Most  Great!  God  is  Most  Great!  Take  hands,  O 
sons  of  one  Father,  believers  in  one  God !  Pray  to  Him  who 
changes  all  things  but  Himself  changeth  not !  God  is  Most 
Great!  God  is  Most  Great!  Let  Allahu-Akbar  sound  for 
ever  through  your  souls ! ' 

"  The  effect  was  overwhelming.  Even  some  of  the  low- 
class  Greeks  and  Italians  were  sobbing  aloud,  and  our  poor 
Egyptian  children  were  like  people  possessed.  Hungry,  out 
of  work,  many  of  them  wearing  a  single  garment,  and  that 
a  ragged  one — ^yet  a  new  magnificence  seemed  to  be  given 
to  their  lives.  Something  radiant  and  glorious  seemed  to 
glimmer  in  the  distance,  making  their  present  sufferings 
look  small  and  mean. 

"  And  I  ?  I  don't  know,  my  dear  Helena,  how  I  can 
better  tell  you  what  I  felt  than  by  telling  you  what  I  did. 
I  was  looking  down  from  the  saddle  at  my  First  Suffolk  and 
my  Second  Berkshire,  standing  in  line  with  their  poor  little 
rifles,  when  something  gripped  me  by  the  throat,  and  I 
signed  to  the  officers,  shouted  '  Back  to  your  quarters ! '  and 
rode  off,  without  waiting  to  see  what  would  happen,  because 
I  knew. 

"  I  have  written  both  to  the  General  and  to  my  father, 
telling  them  I  have  not  arrested  Ishmael  Ameer  and  don't 
intend  to  do  so.  If  this  is  quackery  and  spiritual  leger- 
demain to  cover  sedition  and  conspiracy,  I  throw  up  the 
sponge  and   count    myself   among  the  fools.     But  Ishmael 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  83 

Ameer  is  one  of  the  flame-bearers  of  the  world.  Let  who 
will  put  him  down — I  will  not. 

"  My  dearest  Helena,  I've  written  all  this  about  the  new 
prophet  and  not  a  word  about  yourself,  though  I've  been 
feeling  the  quivering  grip  of  your  hand  in  mine  every  mo- 
ment of  the  time.  The  memory  of  that  delicious  quarter 
of  an  hour  in  the  garden  has  sweetened  the  sulphurous  air 
of  Alexandria  for  me,  and  I'm  in  a  fever  to  get  back. 
'  Smash  the  Mahdi ! '  you  said,  thinking  if  I  didn't  obey  my 
father  and  yours  I  should  offend  both  and  so  lead  to  trouble 
between  you  and  me.  But  the  Consul-General  is  a  just  man, 
if  he  is  a  hard  one,  and  I  should  not  deserve  to  be  his  son 
if  I  did  not  dare  to  warn  him  when  he  was  going  to  do 
wrong.  Neither  should  I  deserve  to  be  loved  by  the  bravest 
girl  alive  if  I  hadn't  the  pluck  to  stand  up  for  the  right. 

"  Good  night,  sweetheart !  It's  two  in  the  morning,  the 
town  is  as  quiet  as  a  desert  village,  and  I  am  going  to 
turn  in.  Gordon. 

"  P.  S. — Forgot  to  say  Ishmael  Ameer  is  to  go  up  to  Cairo 
shortly,  so  you'll  soon  see  him  for  yourself.  But  Heaven 
help  me,  what  is  to  become  of  Gordon  Lord  when  you've  once 
looked  on  this  son  of  the  wilderness? 

"  P.  P.  S. — Not  an  arrest  since  yesterday !  " 


XVI 

"  General's  House,  Citadel,  Cairo. 

"  My  dear  Gordon  :  You're  in  for  it !  In  that  whisper- 
ing gallery  which  people  call  the  East,  where  everything  is 
known  before  it  happens  to  happen,  rumours  without  end 
were  coming  to  Cairo  of  what  you  were  doing  in  Alexandria, 
but  nobody  in  authority  believed  the  half  of  it  until  your 
letters  arrived  at  noon  to-day,  and  now — heigho,  for  the 
wind  and  the  rain ! 

"  My  dear  dad  is  going  about  like  an  old  Tom  with  his 
tail  up,  and  as  for  the  Consul-General — whew!  (a  whistle, 
your  Excellency). 


84  THE    WHITE    PKOPHET 

"  Let  me  take  things  in  their  order,  though,  so  that  you 
may  see  what  has  come  to  pass.  I  was  reading  your  letter 
for  the  third  (or  was  it  the  thirtieth?)  time  this  aftei-noon, 
when  who  should  come  in  but  the  Princess  Nazimah,  so  I 
couldn't  resist  an  impulse  to  tell  her  what  your  son  of  Hagar 
had  to  say  on  the  position  of  Eastern  women,  thinking  it 
would  gratify  her  and  she  would  agree.  But  no,  not  a  bit 
of  it;  oif  she  went  on  the  other  side,  with  talk  straight  out 
of  the  harem,  showing  that  the  woman  of  the  East  isn't 
worthy  of  emancipation  and  shouldn't  get  it — yet. 

"  It  seems  that  if  the  men  of  the  East  are  '  beasts,'  the 
women  are  'creatures.'  Love?  They  never  heard  of  such 
a  thing.  Husband  ?  The  word  doesn't  exist  for  them.  Not 
my  master,  even !  Just  master !  Living  together  like  school- 
girls and  loving  each  other  like  sisters — think  of  that,  my 
dear ! 

"  And  when  I  urged  that  we  were  all  taught  to  love  one 
another — all  Christians,  at  all  events — she  cried:  'What! 
And  share  one  man  between  four  of  you  ? '  In  short,  the 
condition  was  only  possible  to  cocks  and  hens,  and  that 
Eastern  women  could  put  up  with  it  showed  they  were  crea- 
tures— simple  creatures,  content  and  hap})y  if  their  hus- 
bands (beg  pardon,  their  masters)  gave  them  equal  presents 
of  dresses  and  jewels  and  Turkish  delight.  No,  let  the 
woman  of  the  East  keep  a  little  longer  to  her  harem  win- 
dow, her  closed  carriage,  and  her  wisp  of  mousseline  de  sole 
she  calls  her  veil,  or  she'll  misuse  her  liberty.  '  Oh,  I  know. 
I  say  what  I  think.    I  don't  care.' 

"  As  for  your  Ishmael,  the  Princess  wouldn't  have  him 
at  any  price.  He's  just  another  Mahdi,  and  if  he's  cham- 
pioning the  cause  of  women  the  son  of  a  duck  knows  how 
to  swim.  His  predecessor  began  by  denouncing  slavery  and 
ended  by  being  the  biggest  slave-dealer  in  the  Soudan. 
Ergo,  your  Ishmael,  who  cares  neither  for  '  the  frowns  of 
man  nor  the  smiles  of  woman,'  is  going  to  finish  up  like 
Solomon  or  Samson,  either  as  the  tyrant  of  a  hundred 
women  or  the  victim  of  one  of  them  whose  heart  is  snares 
and  nets.  *  Oh,  I  know.  Every  man  is  a  sultan  to  himself, 
and  the  tail  of  a  dog  is  never  straight.' 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  85 

"  But  as  for  you,  it  seems  you  are  '  a  brother  of  girls/ 
which  being"  interpreted  means  you  are  a  man  to  whom  God 
has  given  a  clean  heart  to  love  all  women  as  his  sisters,  and 
courage  and  strength  to  fight  for  their  protection.  '  Didn't 
I  tell  you  that  you  had  the  best  of  the  bunch,  my  child  ? ' 
(She  did.  Serenity.)  '  But  though  he  is  a  soldier  and  as 
brave  as  a  lion,  he  has  too  much  of  the  woman  in  him.' 
In  this  respect  you  resemble,  it  seems,  one  of  the  Prin- 
cess's own  husbands,  but  having  had  a  variety  of  them, 
both  right  and  left-handed,  she  found  a  difficulty  in  fix- 
ing your  prototype.  '  My  first  husband  was  like  that — or 
no,  it  was  my  second — or  perhaps  it  was  one  of  the  other 
ones.' 

"  But  this  being  so,  0  virtuous  one,  it  became  my  duty 
to  get  you  back  from  Alexandria  as  speedily  as  possible. 
*  Love,  like  the  sparrows,  comes  and  goes.  Oh,  I  know. 
I've  seen  it  myself,  my  child.' 

"  '  And  listen,  my  moon.  Don't  allow  your  Gordon  '  (she 
calls  you  Gourdan)  '  to  go  against  his  father.  Nuneham  is 
the  greatest  man  in  the  world,  but  let  anybody  cross  him — 
V1071  Dieu!  If  you  go  out  as  the  wind  you  meet  the  whirl- 
wind, and  serve  you  right,  too.' 

"  In  complete  agreement  on  this  point,  the  Princess  and 
I  were  parting  in  much  kindness  when  father  came  dashing 
into  my  drawing-room  like  a  gust  of  the  Khamseen,  having 
just  had  a  telephone  message  from  the  Consul-General  re- 
quiring him  to  go  down  to  the  Agency  without  delay. 
Whereupon,  with  a  word  or  two  of  apology  to  the  Princess 
and  a  rumbling  subterranean  growl  of  '  Don't  know  what  the 
d that  young  man  .  .  .  '  he  picked  up  your  letter  to  him- 
self and  was  gone  in  a  moment. 

"  It  is  now  10  P.M.  and  he  hasn't  come  back  yet.  An- 
other telephone  message  told  me  he  wouldn't  be  home  to 
dinner,  so  I  dined  alone,  with  only  Mosie  Gobs  for  company, 
but  he  waits  on  me  like  my  shadow,  and  gives  me  good 
advice  on  all  occasions. 

"  It  seems  his  heart  is  still  on  fire  with  love  for  me,  and, 
having  caught  him  examining  his  face  in  my  toilet-glass 
this  morning,  I  was  amused,  and  a  little  touched,  when  he 


86  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

asked  me  to-night  if  the  Army  Surgeon  had  any  medicine 
to  make  people  white. 

"  Apparently,  his  former  love  was  a  small  black  maiden 
who  works  in  the  laundry,  and  he  shares  your  view  (as  re- 
vealed in  happier  hours,  your  Highness)  that  there's  noth- 
ing in  the  world  so  nice  as  a  little  girl  except  a  big  one. 
But  I  find  he  hasn't  the  best  opinion  of  you,  for  when  I 
was  trying  to  while  away  an  hour  after  dinner  by  playing 
the  piano  I  overheard  the  monkey  telling  the  cook  that  to 
see  her  hands  (i.  e.,  mine)  run  over  the  teeth  of  the  music- 
box  amazes  the  mind — therefore,  why  should  her  husband 
(id  est,  you)  spend  so  much  time  in  the  cojffee-shop  ? 

"  Since  then  I've  been  out  in  the  arbour  trying  to  live 
over  again  the  delicious  quarter  of  an  hour  you  speak  of, 
but  though  the  wing  of  night  is  over  the  city  and  the  air 
is  as  soft  as  somebody's  kiss  is  (except  sometimes),  it  was 
a  dreadful  failure,  for  when  I  closed  my  eyes,  thinking 
hearts  see  each  other,  I  could  feel  nothing  but  the  sting  of 
a  mosquito,  and  could  only  hear  the  watchman  crying 
*  Wahhed ! '  and  what  that  was  like  you've  only  to  open  your 
mouth  wide  and  then  say  it,  and  you'll  know. 

"  So  here  I  am  at  my  desk  talking  against  time  until 
father  comes,  and  there's  something  to  say.  And  if  you 
would  know  how  I  am  myself,  I  would  tell  you,  most  glo- 
rious and  respected,  that  I'm  as  tranquil  as  can  be  expected 
considering  what  a  fever  you've  put  me  in,  for,  falling  on 
my  knees  before  your  unsullied  hands,  O  Serenity,  it  seems 
to  me  you're  a  dunce  after  all,  and  have  gone  and  done 
exactly  what  your  great  namesake  did  before  you,  in  spite 
of  his  tragic  fate  to  warn  you. 

"  The  trouble  in  Gordon  major's  case  was  that  the  Gov- 
ernment gave  him  a  discretionary  power  and  he  used  it,  and 
it  seems  as  if  something  similar  has  happened  to  Gordon 
minor,  with  the  same  results.  I  hope  to  goodness  they  may 
send  you  a  definite  order  as  the  consequence  of  their  col- 
loguing to-night,  and  then  you  can  have  no  choice,  and  there 
will  be  no  further  trouble. 

"  That  is  not  to  say  that  I  think  you  are  wrong  in  your 
view  of  this  new  Mahdi,  but  merely  that  I  don't  want  to 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  87 

know  anything  about  him.  His  protests  against  the  spirit 
of  the  world  may  be  good  and  beneficial,  but  peace  and  quiet 
are  better.  His  predictions  about  the  millennium  may  be 
right,  too,  and  if  he  likes  to  live  on  that  dinner  of  herbs 
let  him.  Can't  you  leave  such  people  to  boil  their  own  pot 
without  you  providing  them  with  sticks?  I'm  a  woman,  of 
course,  and  my  Moslem  sisters  may  be  suffering  this,  that, 
or  the  other  injustice,  but  when  it  comes  to  letting  these 
things  get  in  between  your  happiness  and  mine,  what  the 
dickens,  and  the  deuce,  and  the  divil  do  I  care? — which  is 
proof  of  what  Mosie  said  to  the  cook  about  the  sweetness 
of  my  tongue. 

"  As  for  your  '  Arab  nobleman '  taking  me  by  storm,  no, 
thank  you!  I  dare  say  he  has  red  finger-nails,  and  if  one 
touched  the  tip  of  his  nose  it  would  be  as  soft  as  Mosie's. 
I  hate  him  any^vay,  and  if  you  are  ever  again  tempted  to 
fight  him,  take  my  advice  and  fall  I  But  look  here,  Mr. 
Charlie  Gordon  Lord !  If  you're  so  very  keen  for  a  fight 
come  here  and  fight  me — I'm  game  for  you! 

"  Soberly,  my  dear — dear,  don't  think  I'm  not  proud  of 
you  that  you  are  the  only  man  in  all  Egypt,  aye,  or  the  world, 
who  dares  stand  up  to  your  father.  When  God  made  you 
he  made  you  without  fear — I  know  that.  He  made  you  with 
a  heart  that  would  die  rather  than  do  a  wrong — I  know  that, 
too.  I  don't  believe  you  are  taking  advantage  of  your 
position  as  a  son,  either;  and  when  people  blame  your  par- 
ents for  bringing  you  up  as  an  Arab  I  know  it  all  comes 
from  deeper  down  than  that.  I  suppose  it  is  the  Plymouth 
Rock  in  you,  the  soul  and  blood  of  the  men  of  the  May- 
floiver.  You  cannot  help  it,  and  you  would  fight  your  own 
father  for  what  you  believed  to  be  the  right. 

"  But,  oh,  dear,  that's  just  what  makes  me  tremble.  Tour 
father  and  you  on  opposite  sides  is  a  thing  too  terrible  to 
think  about.  English  gentlemen  ?  Yes,  I'm  not  saying  any- 
thing to  the  contrary,  but  British  bulldogs,  too,  and,  as  if 
that  were  not  enough,  you've  got  the  American  eagle  in 
you  as  well.  You'll  destroy  each  other — that  will  be  the 
end  of  it.  And  if  you  ask  me  what  reason  I  have  for  saying 
so,  I  answer — simply  a  woman's,  I  Tcnow!    I  know! 


88  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Father  just  back — dreadfully  excited  and  exhausted — 
had  to  get  him  off  to  bed.  Something  fresh  brewing — can- 
not tell  what. 

"  I  gather  that  your  friend,  the  Grand  Cadi,  was  at  the 
Agency  to-night — but  I'll  hear  more  in  the  morning. 

"  It's  very  late  and  the  city  seems  to  be  tossing  in  its 
sleep — a  kind  of  somnambulant  moan  coming  up  from  it. 
They  say  the  Nile  is  beginning  to  rise,  and  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  (it  has  just  risen)  I  can  faintly  see  a  streak  of 
red  water  down  the  middle  of  the  river.  Ugh!  It's  like 
blood  and  makes  me  shiver,  so  I  must  go  to  bed. 

"  Father  much  better  this  morning.  But,  oh !  oh !  oh ! 
...  It  seems  you  are  to  be  telegraphed  for  to  return  imme- 
diately. Something  you  have  to  do  in  Cairo — I  don't  know 
what.  I'm  glad  you  are  to  come  back,  though,  for  I  hate 
to  think  of  you  in  the  same  city  as  that  man  Ishmael.  Let 
me  hear  from  you  the  minute  you  arrive,  for  I  may  have 
something  to  say  by  that  lime,  and  meantime  I  send  this 
letter  by  hand  to  your  quarters  at  Kasr  el  Nil. 

"  That  red  streak  in  the  Nile  is  plain  enough  this  morn- 
ing. I  suppose  it's  only  the  first  water  that  comes  pouring 
down  from  the  clay  soil  of  Abyssinia,  but  I  hate  to  look 
at  it. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  Gordon,  dear — I'm  really  a  shock- 
ing coward,  you  know.  IIelp:na. 

"P.  S. — Another  dream  last  night!  Same  as  before  ex- 
actly— that  man  coming  between  you  and  me." 


XVII 

Returning  to  Cairo  by  the  first  train  the  following  morn- 
ing, Gordon  received  Helena's  letter  and  replied  to  it: 

"  Just  arrived  in  obedience  to  their  telegram.  But  don't 
be  afraid,  dearest.  Nothing  can  happen  that  will  injure 
either  of  us.  My  father  cannot  have  wished  me  to  arrest 
an  innocent  man.  Therefore  set  your  mind  at  ease  and  be 
happy.    Going  over  to  the  Agency  now,  but  hope  to  see  you 


THE    CRESCENT    AXD    THE    CROSS  89 

in  the  course  of  the  day.     Greetings  to  the  General  and  all 
my  love  to  his  daughter.  Gordon." 

But  in  spite  of  the  brave  tone  of  this  letter,  he  was  not 
without  a  certain  uneasiness  as  he  rode  across  to  his  father's 
house.  "  I  couldn't  have  acted  otherwise,"  he  thought. 
And  then,  recalling  Helena's  hint  of  something  else  which 
it  was  intended  he  should  do,  he  told  himself  that  his  father 
was  being  deceived  and  did  not  know  what  he  was  doing. 
"  First  of  all  I  must  tell  him  the  truth — at  all  costs,  the 
truth,"  he  thought. 

This  firm  resolution  was  a  little  shaken  the  moment  he 
entered  the  garden  and  the  home  atmosphere  began  to  creep 
upon  him.  And  when  Ibrahim,  his  father's  Egyptian  ser- 
vant, told  him  that  his  mother,  who  had  been  less  well  since 
he  went  away,  was  keeping  her  bed  that  morning,  the  shadow 
of  domestic  trouble  seemed  to  banish  his  stalwart  purpose. 

Bounding  upstairs  three  steps  at  a  time,  he  called  in  a 
cheery  voice  at  his  mother's  door,  but  almost  before  the 
faint,  half-frightened  answer  came  back  to  him  he  was  in 
the  room,  and  the  pale-faced  old  lady  in  her  nightdress  was 
in  his  arms. 

"  I  knew  it  was  you,"  she  said,  and  then,  with  her  thin, 
moist  hands  clasped  about  his  neck,  and  her  head  against 
his  breast,  she  began  in  a  plaintive,  hesitating  voice,  as  if 
she  were  afraid  of  her  own  son,  to  warn  and  reprove  him. 

"  I  do  not  understand  what  is  happening,  dear,  but  you 
must  never  let  anybody  poison  your  mind  against  your 
father.  He  may  be  a  little  hard  sometimes — I'm  not  deny- 
ing that — but  then  he  is  not  to  be  judged  like  other  men — 
he  is  really  not,  you  know.  He  would  cut  off  his  right  hand 
if  he  thought  it  had  done  him  a  wrong,  but  he  is  very  tender 
to  those  he  loves,  and  he  loves  you,  dear,  and  wants  to  do 
so  much  for  you.  It  was  pitiful  to  hear  him  last  night,  Gor- 
don. *I  feel  as  if  my  enemy  has  stolen  my  own  son,'  he 
said.  *  My  own  son,  my  own  son,'  he  kept  saying,  until  I 
could  have  cried,  and  I  couldn't  sleep  for  thinking  of  it. 
You  won't  let  anybody  poison  your  mind  against  your  father 
— promise  me  you  won't,  dear." 


90  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Gordon  comforted  and  kissed  her,  and  rallied  her  and 
laughed,  but  he  felt  for  a  moment  as  if  he  had  come  back 
as  a  traitor  to  destroy  the  happiness  of  home. 

Fatimah  followed  him  out  of  the  room,  and,  winking  to 
keep  back  her  tears,  she  whispered  some  disconnected  story 
of  what  had  happened  on  the  day  on  which  his  father  re- 
ceived his  letter. 

"  Oh,  my  eye,  my  soul,  it  was  sad !  We  could  hear  his 
footsteps  in  his  bedroom  all  night  long.  Sometimes  he  was 
speaking  to  himself.  '  The  scoundrels ! '  '  They  don't  know 
what  shame  is ! '  '  Haven't  I  had  enough  ?  And  now  he,  too ! 
My  son,  my  son ! '  " 

Gordon  went  downstairs  with  a  slow  and  heavy  step.  He 
felt  as  if  everything  were  conspiring  to  make  him  abandon 
his  purpose.  "  Why  can't  I  leave  things  alone  ?  "  he  thought. 
But  just  as  he  reached  the  hall  the  Egyptian  Prime  Min- 
ister, who  was  going  out  of  the  house,  passed  in  front  of  him 
without  seeing  him,  and  a  certain  sinister  look  in  the  man's 
sallow  face  Aviped  out  in  an  instant  all  the  softening  effect 
of  the  scenes  upstairs.  "  Take  care !  "  he  thought.  "  Tell 
him  the  truth,  whatever  happens." 

When  he  entered  the  library  he  expected  his  father  to 
fly  out  at  him,  but  the  old  man  was  very  quiet. 

"  Sit  down — I  shall  be  ready  in  a  moment,"  he  said,  and 
he  continued  to  write  without  raising  his  eyes. 

Gordon  saw  that  his  father's  face  was  more  than  usually 
furrowed  and  severe,  and  a  voice  seemed  to  say  to  him, 
"  Don't  be  afraid !  "  So  he  walked  over  to  the  window  and 
tried  to  look  at  the  glistening  waters  of  the  Nile  and  the 
red  wedges  of  Pyramids  across  the  river. 

"  Well,  I  received  your  letter,"  said  the  old  man,  after  a 
moment.  "  But  what  was  the  nonsensical  reason  you  gave 
me  for  not  doing  your  duty?" 

It  was  the  brusque  tone  he  had  always  taken  with  his 
secretaries  when  they  were  in  the  wrong,  but  it  was  a 
blunder  to  adopt  it  with  Gordon,  who  flushed  up  to  the 
forehead,  wheeled  round  from  the  window,  walked  up  to 
the  desk,  and  said,  beginning  a  little  hesitatingly,  but  gath- 
ering strength  as  he  went  on  : 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  91 

"My  reason,  father  ...  for  not  doing  my  .  ,  .  what  I 
was  sent  to  do  .  .  .  was  merely  that  I  found  I  could  not  do 
it  without  being  either  a  rascal  or  a  fool." 

The  old  man  flinched  and  his  glasses  fell.  "  Explain 
yourself,"  he  said. 

"  I  came  to  the  conclusion,  sir,  that  you  were  mistaken 
in  this  matter." 

"Eeally!" 

"  Possibly  misinformed " 

"  Indeed !  " 

"  By  British  officials  who  don't  know  what  they  are  talk- 
ing about,  or  by  native  scoundrels  who  do." 

Not  for  forty  years  had  anybody  in  Egypt  spoken  to  the 
Consul-General  like  that,  but  he  only  said: 

"  Don't  stand  there  like  a  parson  in  a  pulpit.  Sit  down 
and  tell  me  all  about  it."  Whereupon  Gordon  took  a  seat 
by  the  desk. 

"  The  only  riot  I  witnessed  in  Alexandria,  sir,  was  due 
simply  to  the  bad  feeling  which  always  exists  between  the 
lowest  elements  of  the  European  and  Egyptian  inhabitants. 
Ishmael  Ameer  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  On  the  contrary, 
he  helped  to  put  it  down." 

"  You  heard  what  he  had  said  in  the  mosques  ? " 

"I  had  one  of  his  sermons  reported  to  me,  sir,  and  it 
was  teaching  such  as  would  have  had  your  own  sympathy, 
being  in  line  with  what  you  have  always  said  yourself  about 
the  corruptions  of  Islam  and  the  necessity  of  uplifting  the 
Egyptian  woman  as  a  means  of  raising  the  Egyptian  man." 

"  So  you  decided,  it  seems " 

"  I  decided,  father,  that  to  arrest  Ishmael  Ameer  as  one 
who  was  promulgating  sedition  and  inciting  the  people  to 
rebellion  would  be  an  act  of  injustice  which  you  could  not 
wish  me  to  perpetrate  in  your  name." 

The  Consul-General  put  up  his  glasses,  looked  for  a  let- 
ter which  lay  on  the  desk,  glanced  at  it,  and  said : 

"  I  see  you  say  that  before  you  arrived  in  Alexandria  it 
"was  known  that  you  were  to  come." 

"  That  is  so,  sir." 

"  And  that  after  the  riot  you  counselled  the  Governor 


92  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

to  consent  to  the  man's  request  that  he  should  preach  in 
public." 

"  I  did,  sir.  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  experiment  to 
try  the  effect  of  a  little  moral  influence." 

"  Of  course,  the  experiment  was  justified  ? " 

"  Perfectly  justified — the  people  dispersed  quietly  and 
there  has  not  been  a  single  arrest  since." 

"  But  you  had  a  battalion  of  soldiers  on  the  spot  ? " 

"  I  had — it  was  only  right  to  be  ready  for  emergencies." 

The  old  man  laughed  bitterly.  "  I'm  surprised  at  you. 
Don't  you  see  how  you've  been  hoodwinked  ?  The  man  was 
Avarned  of  your  coming — warned  from  Cairo,  from  El  Azhar, 
which  I  find  you  were  so  foolish  as  to  visit  before  you  left 
for  Alexandria.  Everything  was  prepared  for  you.  A  trick, 
an  Eastern  trick,  and  you  were  so  simple  as  to  be  taken  in. 
I'm  ashamed  of  you — ashamed  of  you  before  my  servants, 
my  secretaries." 

Gordon  coloured  up  to  his  flickering  steel-blue  eyes  and 
said: 

"  Father,  I  must  ask  you  to  begin  by  remembering  that 
I  am  no  longer  a  child  and  not  quite  a  simpleton.  I  know 
the  Egyptians.  I  know  them  better  than  all  your  people 
put  together." 

"  Better  than  your  father  himself,  perhaps  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  better  than  my  father  himself,  because — be- 
cause I  love  them,  whereas  you — you  have  hated  them  from 
the  first.  They've  never  deceived  me  yet,  sir,  and,  with 
your  permission,  I'm  not  going  to  deceive  them." 

The  passionate  words  were  hotly,  almost  aggressively 
spoken,  but  in  some  unfathomable  depth  of  the  father's 
heart  the  old  man  was  fjroud  of  his  son  at  that  moment — 
strong,  fearless,  and  right. 

"  And  the  sermon  in  public — was  that  also  on  the  cor- 
ruption of  Islam?" 

"  Xo,  sir,  it  was  about  the  spirit  of  the  world — the  greed 
of  wealth  which  is  making  people  forget  in  these  days  that 
the  tme  welfare  of  a  nation  is  moral,  not  material." 

"  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Yes — the  hope  of  a  time  when  the  world  will  have  so 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  93 

far  progressed  toward  peace  that  arms  will  be  laid  down  and 
a  Redeemer  will  come  to  proclaim  a  universal  brotherhood." 

"  That  didn't  strike  you  as  ridiculous — to  see  one  unlet- 
tered man  trying  to  efface  the  laws  of  civilised  society — 
asking  sensible  people  to  turn  their  backs  on  the  facts  of 
life  in  order  to  live  in  a  spiritual  hot-house  of  dreams  ?  " 

"  No,  father,  that  did  not  strike  me  as  ridiculous,  be- 
cause  " 

"  Because  what — what,  now  ?  " 

"  Because  John  the  Baptist  and  Jesus  Christ  did  pre- 
cisely the  same  thing." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  old  man 
said : 

"  In  this  golden  age  that  is  to  come,  he  predicts,  I  am 
told,  a  peculiar  place  for  Egypt — is  that  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  holds  that  in  the  commonwealth  of  the 
world  Egypt,  by  reason  of  her  geographical  position,  will 
become  the  interpreter  and  peacemaker  between  the  East  and 
the  West — that  that's  what  she  has  lived  so  long  for." 

"  Yet  it  didn't  occur  to  you  that  this  was  sedition  in 
its  most  seductive  form,  and  that  the  man  who  promulgated 
it  was  probably  the  most  dangerous  of  the  demagogues — the 
woi'st  of  the  Egyptians  who  prate  about  the  natives  govern- 
ing themselves  and  the  English  being  usurping  foreigners." 

"  ISTo,  sir,  that  didn't  occur  to  me  at  all,  because  I  felt 
that  a  Moslem  people  had  a  right  to  their  own  ideals,  and 
also  because  I  thought " 

"Well?    Well?" 

"  That  the  man  who  imagines  that  the  soul  of  a  nation 
can  be  governed  by  the  sword — whoever  he  is.  King,  Kaiser, 
or — or  Czar — is  the  worst  of  tyrants." 

The  old  autocrat  flinched  visibly.  The  scene  was  be- 
coming tragic  to  him.  For  forty  years  he  had  been  fighting 
his  enemies,  and  he  had  beaten  them,  and  now  suddenly  his 
own  son  was  standing  up  as  his  foe.  After  a  moment  of 
silence  he  rose  and  said,  with  stony  gravity: 

"  Very  well !  Having  heard  your  views  on  Ishmael 
Ameer,  and  incidentally  on  myself,  and  all  I  have  hitherto  at- 
tempted to  do  in  Egypt,  it  only  remains  to  me  to  tell  you 


94  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

what  I  intend  to  do  now.  You  know  that  this  man  is  cona- 
ing  on  to  Cairo? " 

Gordon  bowed. 

"  You  are  probably  aware  that  it  is  intended  that  he 
shall  preach  at  El  Azhar?" 

"  I  didn't  know  that,  sir,  but  I'm  not  surprised  to 
hear  it." 

"  Well,  El  Azhar  has  to  be  closed  before  he  arrives." 

"  Closed  '(  " 

"  That  is  what  I  said — closed,  shut  up,  and  its  students 
and  professors  turned  into  the  streets." 

"  But  there  are  sixteen  thousand  of  them — from  all  parts 
of  the  Mohammedan  world,  sir." 

"  That's  Avhy !  The  Press  as  a  medium  of  disaffection 
was  bad  enoiigh,  but  El  Azhar  is  worse.  It  is  a  hotbed  of 
rebellion,  and  a  word  spoken  there  goes,  as  by  wireless  teleg- 
raphy, all  over  Egypt.  It  is  a  secret  society,  and  as  such  it 
must  be  stopped." 

"  But  have  you  reflected " 

"  Do  I  do  anything  without  reflection  ?  " 

"  Closed,  you  say  ?  The  University  ?  The  mosque  of 
mosques  ?     It  is  impossible !     You  are  trifling  with  me." 

"Have  you  taken  leave  of  your  senses,  sir?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  father.  I  only  wish  to  prevent  you 
from  doing  something  you  will  never  cease  to  regret.  It's 
dangerous  work  to  touch  the  religious  beliefs  of  an  Eastern 
people — you  know  that,  sir,  better  than  I  do.  And  if  you 
shut  up  their  University,  their  holy  of  holies,  you  shake 
the  foundations  of  their  society.  It's  like  shutting  up  St. 
Peter's  in  Rome,  or  St.  Paul's  in  London." 

"  Both  events  have  happened,"  said  the  old  man,  resuming 
his  seat. 

"  Father,  I  beg  of  you  to  beware.  Trust  me,  I  know  these 
people.  No  Christian  nation  nowadays  believes  in  Chris- 
tianity as  these  Moslems  believe  in  Islam.  We  don't  care 
enough  for  our  faith  to  fight  for  it.  But  these  dusky  mil- 
lions will  die  for  their  religion.  And  then  there's  Ishmael 
Ameer — you  must  see  for  yourself  what  manner  of  man  he 
is — careless  alike  of  comfort  or  fame,  a  fanatic,  if  you  like. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  95 

but  he  has  only  to  call  to  the  people  and  they'll  follow  him. 
All  the  wealth  and  well-being  you  have  bestowed  on  them 
will  go  to  the  winds  and  they'll  follow  him  to  a  man." 

The  Consul-General's  lip  curled  again,  and  he  said, 
quietly,  "  You  ask  me  to  believe  that  at  the  word  of  this  man 
without  a  penny  and  with  his  head  full  of  worthless  noise,  the 
blue-shirted  fellaheen  will  leave  their  comfortable  homes 
and  their  lands " 

"  Aye,  and  their  wives  and  children,  too — everything  they 
have  or  ever  hope  to  have !  And  if  he  promises  them  noth- 
ing but  danger  and  death,  all  the  more  they'll  go  to  him." 

"  Then  we  must  deal  with  him  also." 

"  You  can't — you  can't  do  anything  with  a  man  like  that 
— a  man  who  wants  nothing  and  is  afraid  of  nothing — ex- 
cept kill  him,  and  you  can't  do  that  either." 

The  Consul-General  did  not  reply  immediately,  and,  com- 
ing closer,  Gordon  began  to  plead  with  him. 

'■  Father,  believe  me,  I  know  what  I  am  saying".  Don't 
be  blind  to  the  storm  that  is  brewing,  and  so  undo  all  the 
good  you  have  ever  done.  For  Egypt's  sake,  England's,  your 
own,  don't  let  damnable  scoundrels  like  the  Grand  Cadi  and 
the  Prime  Minister  play  on  you  like  a  pipe." 

It  was  Gordon  who  had  blundered  now,  and  the  con- 
sequences were  cruel.  The  ruthless,  saturnine  old  man 
rose  again,  and  on  his  square-hewn  face  there  was  an  icy 
smile. 

"  That  brings  me,"  he  said,  speaking  very  slowly,  "  from 
what  I  have  done  to  what  you  must  do.  The  Ulema  of  El 
Azhar  have  received  an  order  to  close  the  University.  It 
went  to  them  this  morning  through  the  President  of  the 
Council,  who  is  acting  as  Regent  in  the  absence  of  the  Khe- 
dive. If  they  refuse  to  go,  it  will  be  your  duty  to  turn  them 
out." 

"  Mine  ?  " 

"  Yours !  The  Governor  of  the  city  and  the  Command- 
ant of  Police  will  go  with  you,  but,  where  sixteen  thousand 
students  and  a  disaffected  population  have  to  be  dealt  with, 
the  military  will  be  required.  If  you  had  brought  Ishmael 
Ameer   back   from   Alexandria   this    step   might   have   been 


96  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

unnecessary,  but  now  instead  of  one  man  you  may  have  to 
arrest  hundreds." 

"  But  if  they  resist — and  they  -oill — I  iiuow  they  will " 

"  In  that  case  they  will  come  under  a  special  tribunal  as 
persons  assaulting  the  members  of  the  British  Army  of 
Occupation,  and  be  despatched  without  delay  to  the  Soudan." 

"But  surely " 

"  The  Ulema  are  required  to  signify  their  assent  by  to- 
morrow morning,  and  we  are  to  meet  at  the  Citadel  at  four 
in  the  afternoon.  You  will  probably  be  required  to  be 
there." 

"  But,  father " 

"  We  left  something  to  your  discretion  before,  hoping  to 
give  you  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing  yourself  in  the 
eyes  of  England,  but  in  this  case  your  orders  will  be  definite, 
and  your  only  duty  will  be  to  obey." 

"  But  will  you  not  permit  me  to " 

"  That  will  do  for  the  present.    I'm  busy.    Good  day !  " 

Gordon  went  out  dazed  and  dumbfounded.  He  saw  noth- 
ing of  Ibrahim,  who  handed  him  his  linen-covered  cap  in 
the  hall,  or  of  the  page-boy  at  the  porch  who  gave  him  his 
reins  and  held  down  his  stirrup.  When  he  came  back  to 
consciousness  he  was  riding  by  the  side  of  the  Nile,  where 
the  bridge  was  open,  and  a  number  of  boats  with  white 
sails,  like  a  flight  of  great  sea-gulls,  were  sweeping  through. 

At  the  next  moment  he  was  at  the  entrance  to  his  own 
quarters,  and  found  a  white  motor-car  standing  there.  It 
was  Helena's  car,  and,  leaping  from  the  saddle,  he  went 
bounding  up  the  stairs. 


XVIII 

Helena  was  at  his  door,  with  an  anxious  and  perplexed 
face,  talking  to  his  soldier  servant.  At  the  next  instant 
they  were  in  each  other's  arms,  and  their  troubles  were 
gone.  Her  smile  seemed  to  light  up  his  room  more  than 
all  its  wealth  of  sunlight,  and  nothing  else  was  of  the  small- 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  97 

est  consequence.  But  after  a  moment  she  drew  out  a  letter 
and  said: 

"  I  told  father  you  were  back,  and  he  dictated  a  mes- 
sage to  you.  He  was  going  to  send  it  by  his  A.D.C.,  but  I 
asked  to  be  allowed  to  bring  it  myself  and  he  consented. 
Here  it  is,  dear." 

Gordon  opened  and  read  the  General's  letter.  It  was  a 
formal  request  that  he  should  be  in  attendance  at  the  Cita- 
del at  four  the  following  day  to  receive  urgent  and  impor- 
tant instructions. 

"You  know  what  it  refers  to,  Helena?" 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered. 

The  look  of  perplexity  had  returned  to  her  face,  and  for 
some  minutes  they  stood  arm  in  arm  by  the  open  window, 
looking  down  at  the  Nile  in  a  dazed  and  dreamy  way. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Gordon  ? " 

"I  don't  know— yet." 

"  It  will  be  an  order  now,  and  as  an  officer  you  can  do 
nothing  but  obey." 

"  I  suppose  not,  dear." 

"  There  are  so  many  things  calling  for  your  obedience,  too 
■ — honour,  ambition,  everything  a  soldier  can  want,  you  know." 

"  I  know !     I  know !  " 

She  crept  closer  and  said,  "  Then  there's  something  else, 
dear." 

"  What  else,  Helena  ?  " 

"  Haven't  I  always  told  you  that  sooner  or  later  that 
man  would  come  between  us  ?  " 

"Ishmael?" 

"  Yes.  Last  night  my  father  said  .  .  .  but  I  hate  to 
mention  it." 

"  Tell  me,  dear,  tell  me." 

"  He  said :  '  You  couldn't  marry  a  man  who  had  dis- 
obeyed and  been  degraded  ? '  " 

"  Meaning  that  if  I  refused  to  obey  orders,  you  and  I 
perhaps  ...  by  arrangement  between  your  father  and  mine, 
maybe " 

"  That  is  what  I  understood  him  to  mean,  dear,  and 
therefore  I  came  to  see  you." 


98  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

He  flushed  crimson  for  a  moment  and  then  began  to 
laugh. 

"  No,  no !  I'll  never  believe  that  of  them.  It  would  be 
monstrous — impossible  !  " 

But  the  questioning  look  in  Helena's  eyes  remained  and 
he  tried  to  reassure  her.  So  many  things  might  happen  to 
remove  the  difficulty  altogether.  The  Ulema  might  take 
the  order  of  the  Government  as  a  protest  -against  the  visit 
of  Ishmael  Ameer,  and  send  him  instructions  not  to  come 
to  Cairo. 

"  He's  here  already,  dear,"  said  Helena. 

As  she  drove  down  from  the  Citadel  she  had  crossed  a 
crowd  of  natives  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  railway 
station,  and  some  one  had  said  it  was  a  procession  in  honour 
of  the  new  prophet,  who  had  just  arrived  from  Alexandria. 

"  Then  you've  seen  him  yourself,  Helena  ?  " 

"  I  saw  a  man  in  a  white  dress  on  a  white  camel,  but  I 
didn't  look — I  had  somebody  else  to  think  about." 

He  was  carried  away  by  the  singleness  of  her  love,  and 
with  a  score  of  passionate  expressions  he  kissed  her  beautiful 
white  hands  and  did  his  best  to  comfort  her. 

"  iSTever  mind,  dear!  Don't  be  afraid!  The  Governors 
of  El  Azhar  may  agree  to  close  their  doors — temporarily,  at 
all  events.    Anyhow,  we'll  muddle  through  somehow." 

She  made  him  promise  not  to  go  near  the  "  new  Mahdi," 
and  then  began  to  draw  on  her  long,  yellow  driving  gloves. 

"  I  suppose  the  gossips  of  Cairo  would  be  shocked  if  they 
knew  I  had  come  to  see  you,"  she  said. 

"  It's  not  the  first  time  you've  boon  here,  though.  You're 
here  always — see!"  he  said,  and  wilh  his  arm  about  her 
waist  he  took  her  round  his  room  to  look  at  her  portraits 
that  hung  on  the  walls.  It  was  Helena  here,  Helena  there, 
Helena  everywhere,  but  since  that  was  the  first  time  the 
real  Helena  had  visited  his  quarters,  she  must  drink  his 
health  in  them. 

She  would  only  drink  it  in  water,  and  when  she  had  done 
so  she  had  to  slip  off  her  glove  again  and  dip  her  finger  into 
the  same  glass  that  he  might  drink  her  own  health  as  well. 
In  spite  of  the  shadow  of  trouble  which  hung  over  them 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  99 

they  were  very  happy.  A  world  of  warm  impulses  coursed 
through  their  veins,  and  they  could  hardly  permit  them- 
selves to  part.  It  was  sweet  to  stand  by  the  window  again 
and  look  down  at  the  dazzling  Nile.  For  them  the  old  river 
flowed,  for  them  it  sang  its  sleepy  song.  They  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  and  smiled  without  speaking.  It  was  just 
as  if  their  hearts  saw  each  other  and  were  satisfied. 

At  length  she  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  he 
felt  the  warm  glow  of  her  body. 

"  You  think  that  still,  Gordon  ?  " 

"What,  dearest?" 

"  That  love  is  above  everything  ?  " 

"  Everything  in  the  world,"  he  whispered,  and  then  she 
kissed  him  of  herself,  and  nothing  else  mattered — nothing 
on  earth  or  in  heaven. 

XIX 

When  Helena  had  gone  the  air  of  his  room  seemed  to  be 
more  dumb  and  empty  than  it  had  ever  been  before ;  but  the 
bell  of  the  telephone  rang  immediately,  and  Hafiz  spoke  to 
him. 

Hafiz  had  just  heard  from  his  uncle  that  the  Ulema 
were  to  meet  at  eight  o'clock  to  consider  what  course  they 
ought  to  adopt.  The  Chancellor  was  in  favour  of  submis- 
sion to  superior  force,  but  some  of  his  colleagues  of  the 
reactionary  party — the  old  stick-in-the-muds  made  in  Mecca 
— not  being  able  to  believe  the  Government  could  be  in 
earnest,  were  advocating  revolt,  even  resistance. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  go  up  to  El  Azhar  to-night,  Gordon, 
and  tell  them  the  Government  means  business?  They'll 
believe  you,  you  know,  and  it  may  save  riot,  perhaps  blood- 
shed." 

"  I  hadn't  intended  to  go  there  again,  Hafiz,  but  if  you 
think  I  can  do  any  good " 

"You  can — I'm  sure  you  can.  Let  me  call  for  you  at 
eight,  and  we'll  go  up  together." 

"  Can't  see  why  we  shouldn't.  .  .  .  But  wait !  Ishmael 
Ameer  is  in  Cairo.     Will  he  be  there,  think  you?" 


100  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Don't  know — should  think  it  very  likely." 

*'  Well,  it  can't  be  helped.  Eight  o'clock,  then !  By- 
bye  !  "  said  Gordon,  and  with  that  he  rang  off  and  wrote 
to  Plelena,  telling  her  what  he  was  going  to  do.  He  was 
going  to  break  his  word  to  her  again,  but  it  was  only  in 
the  interests  of  peace  and  with  the  hope  of  j^reventing 
trouble. 

"  Don't  suppose  these  people  can  influence  nie  a  hair's 
breadth,  dearest,"  he  wrote,  "  and,  above  all,  don't  be  angry." 

At  eight  o'clock  Ilafiz  came  for  him,  and,  dressed  in 
mufti,  they  walked  up  to  the  University.  With  more  than 
usual  ceremony  they  were  taken  to  the  Chancellor's  room 
in  the  roof,  and  there,  in  a  tense,  electrical  atmosphere,  the 
Ulema  were  already  assembled — a  group  of  eight  or  nine 
rugged  and  imkempt  creatures  in  their  farageeyah  (a  loose 
gray  robe,  like  that  of  a  monk),  squatting  on  the  divans 
about  the  walls.  All  the  members  of  the  Board  of  El  Azhar 
were  present,  and  the  only  stranger  there,  except  themselves, 
Avas  Ishmael  Ameer,  who  sat,  in  his  spotless  white  dress  and 
with  his  solemn  face,  on  a  chair  beside  the  door. 

In  silence,  and  with  many  sweeping  salaams  from  floor 
to  forehead,  Gordon  was  received  by  the  company,  and  at 
the  request  of  the  Chancellor  he  explained  the  object  of 
his  visit.  It  Avas  not  oflicial,  and  it  was  scarcely  proper, 
but  it  was  intended  to  do  good.  There  were  moments  when, 
passion  being  excited,  there  was  a  serious  risk  of  collision 
between  governors  and  governed.  This  was  one  of  them, 
liightly  or  wrongly,  the  Consul-General  was  convinced  that 
the  University  of  Cairo  was  likely  to  become  a  centre  of 
sedition.  Could  they  not  agree  to  close  it  for  a  time,  at  all 
events  ? 

At  that  the  electrical  atmosphere  of  the  room  broke  into 
rumblings  of  thimder.  The  order  of  the  Government  was 
an  outrage  on  the  Mohammedan  religion,  which  England 
had  pledged  herself  to  respect.  El  Azhar  was  one  of  the 
three  holy  places  of  the  Islamic  world,  and  to  close  it  was 
to  take  the  bread  of  life  from  the  Moslems.  "  The  Govern- 
ment might  as  well  cut  our  throats  at  once  and  have  done 
with  it,"  said  some  one. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  101 

From  denouncing  the  order  of  the  Government,  the 
Ulema  went  on  to  denounce  the  Government  itself.  It  was 
eating  the  people!  It  was  like  wolves  trying  to  devour 
them !  "  Are  we  to  be  body  and  soul  under  the  heel  of 
the  infidel  ? "  they  asked  themselves. 

After  that  they  denounced  Lord  Nuneham.  He  was  the 
slave  of  power!  He  was  drunk  with  the  strong  drink  of 
authority!  The  University  was  their  voice — he  had  de- 
prived them  of  every  other — and  now  he  was  trying  to 
strike  them  dumb !  When  somebody,  remembering  that  they 
were  speaking  before  the  Consul-General's  son,  suggested 
that  if  he  was  doing  a  bad  act  it  might  be  with  a  good  con- 
science, an  alim  with  an  injured  eye  and  a  malignant  face 
cried :  "  No,  by  Allah !  The  man  who  usurps  the  place  of 
God  becomes  a  devil,  and  that's  what  Nuneham  is  and  long 
has  been." 

Listening  to  their  violence  Gordon  had  found  himself 
taking  his  father's  part,  and  at  this  moment  his  anger  had 
risen  so  high  that  he  was  struggling  against  an  impulse  to 
take  the  unkempt  creature  by  the  throat  and  fling  him  out 
of  the  room,  when  the  soft  voice  of  the  Chancellor  began  to 
plead  for  peace. 

"  Mohammed — to  him  be  prayer  and  peace — always  yielded 
to  superior  force;  and  who  are  we  that  we  should  be  too  proud 
to  follow  his  example  ?  " 

But  at  that  the  reactionary  party  became  louder  and 
fiercer  than  before.  "  Our  Prophet,"  cried  one,  "  has  com- 
manded us  not  to  seek  war  and  not  to  begin  it.  But  he 
has  also  told  us  that  if  war  is  waged  against  Islam  we  are 
to  resist  it  under  penalty  of  being  ourselves  as  unbelievers, 
and  to  follow  up  those  who  assail  us  without  pity  and  with- 
out remorse.  Therefore,  if  the  English  close  our  holy  El 
Azhar  they  will  be  waging  war  on  our  religion,  and,  by  the 
Most  High  God,  we  will  fight  them  to  the  last  man,  woman, 
and  child." 

At  that  instant  Hafiz,  who  had  been  trembling  in  an 
obscure  seat  by  the  door,  rose  to  his  feet  and  said,  in  a 
nervous  voice,  addressing  his  uncle: 

"  Eminence,  may  I  say  something  ?  " 
8 


102  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Speak,  son  of  my  sister,"  said  the  Chancellor. 

"  It  is  about  Colonel  Lord,"  said  Hafiz.  "  If  you  refuse 
to  close  El  Azhar,  an  order  to  force  you  to  do  so  will  be 
issued  to  the  military  and  Colonel  Lord  will  be  required  to 
carry  it  into  effect." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  He  is  the  friend  of  the  Muslemeen,  your  Eminence,  but 
if  you  resist  him  he  will  be  compelled  to  kill  you." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  well  to  say  '  With  God's  permission  ? '  " 
said  the  man  with  the  injured  eye,  whereupon  Hafiz  wheeled 
round  on  him  and  answered,  hotly : 

"  lie  has  the  bayonets  and  he  has  the  courage,  and  if  you 
fight  him  there  won't  be  so  much  as  a  rat  among  you  that 
will  be  left  alive." 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  and  breathless  silence,  and 
then  Hafiz,  now  as  nervous  as  before,  said  quietly :  "  On  the 
other  hand,  if  he  refuses  to  obey  his  orders  he  will  lose  his 
place  and  rank  as  a  soldier.  Which  of  these  do  you  wish 
to  see,  your  Eminence  ?  " 

There  was  another  moment  of  breathless  silence,  and 
then  Ishmael  Ameer,  who  had  not  spoken  before,  said  in  his 
quivering  voice : 

"  Let  us  call  on  God  to  guide  us,  my  brothers — in  tears 
and  in  fervent  prayer,  all  night  long  in  the  mosque,  until 
His  light  shines  on  us  and  a  door  of  hope  has  opened." 


XX 

As  Gordon  returned  to  barracks  the  air  of  the  native 
section  of  the  city  seemed  to  tingle  with  excitement.  The 
dirty,  unpaved  streets  with  their  overhanging  tenements 
were  thronged.  Framed  portraits  of  Ishmael  Ameer,  with 
candles  burning  in  front  of  them,  were  standing  on  the 
counters  of  nearly  all  the  cafes  and  the  men  squatting  on 
the  benches  about  were  chanting  the  Koran.  One  man, 
generally  a  blind  man,  with  his  right  hand  before  his  ear, 
would  be  reciting  the  text,  and  at  the  close  of  every  Surah 
the  others  would  be  crying  "  Allah  I  Allah !  " 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  103 

In  the  densest  quarter,  where  the  streets  were  narrowest 
and  most  full  of  ruts,  the  houses  most  wretched  and  the 
windows  most  covered  with  cobwebs,  a  company  of  dervishes 
were  walking  in  procession,  bearing  their  ragged  banners 
and  singing  their  weird  Arab  music  to  the  accompaniment 
of  pipes  and  drums,  while  boys  parading  beside  them  were 
carrying  tin  lamps  and  open  flares.  Before  certain  of  the 
houses  they  stopped,  and  for  some  minutes  they  swayed  their 
bodies  to  an  increasing  chorus  of  "  Allah !    Allah !    Allah !  " 

Gordon  saw  what  had  happened.  With,  the  coming  of 
the  new  teacher  a  wave  of  religious  feeling  had  swept  over 
the  city.  Dam  it  up  suddenly,  and  what  scenes  of  fanatical 
frenzy  might  not  occur. 

Back  in  his  room,  with  the  window  down  to  shut  out  the 
noises  of  the  river  and  the  bridge,  he  tried  to  come  to  a 
conclusion  as  to  what  he  ought  to  do  the  following  day 
if  the  Ulema  decided  to  resist.  They  would  resist ;  he  had 
no  doubt  about  that,  for  where  men  were  under  the  influ- 
ence of  gusts  of  religious  passion  they  might  call  on  God, 
but  God's  answer  was  always  the  same. 

If  the  Ulema  were  to  decide  not  to  close  their  sacred 
place  they  would  intend  to  die  in  defence  of  it,  and,  seeing 
the  issue  from  the  Moslem  point  of  view,  that  El  Azhar 
was  the  centre  of  their  spiritual  life,  Gordon  concluded  that 
they  would  be  justified  in  resisting.  If  they  were  justified 
the  order  to  evict  them  would  be  wicked,  and  the  act  of 
eviction  would  be  a  crime.  "  I  can't  do  it !  "  he  told  him- 
self.    "  I  can't  and  I  won't !  " 

This  firm  resolve  relieved  him  for  a  moment,  and  then 
he  began  to  ask  himself  what  would  happen  if  he  refused 
to  obey.  The  bad  work  would  be  done  all  the  same,  for 
somebody  else  would  do  it.  "  What  then  will  be  the  result  ?  " 
he  thought. 

The  first  result  would  be  that  he  himself  would  suffer. 
He  would  be  tried  for  insubordination,  and,  of  course,  de- 
graded and  punished.  As  a  man  he  might  be  in  the  right, 
but  as  a  soldier  he  would  be  in  the  wrong.  He  thought  of 
his  hard-fought  fights  and  of  the  honours  he  had  won,  and 
his  head  went  round  in  a  whirl. 


104  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

The  next  result  would  be  that  he  would  bring  disgrace 
on  his  father  as  well.  His  refusal  to  obey  orders  would 
become  known,  and  if  the  consequences  he  expected  should 
come  to  pass  he  would  seem  to  stand  up  as  the  first  of  his 
father's  accusers.  He,  his  father's  only  son,  would  be  the 
means  of  condemning  him  in  the  eyes  of  England,  of 
Europe,  of  the  world !  In  his  old  age,  too,  and  after  all  he 
had  done  for  Egypt ! 

Then,  above  all,  there  was  Helena !  The  General  would 
side  with  the  Consul-General,  and  Helena  would  be  required 
to  cast  in  her  lot  with  her  father  or  with  him.  If  she  sided 
with  him  she  would  have  to  break  with  her  father;  if  she 
sided  with  her  father  she  would  have  to  part  from  him. 
In  either  case  the  happiness  of  her  life  would  be  wasted — 
he  would  have  wasted  it,  and  he  would  have  wasted  his  own 
happiness  as  well. 

This  thought  seemed  to  take  him  by  the  throat  and  stifle 
him.  He  leaped  from  the  bed  on  which  he  had  been  lying 
in  restless  pain  and  threw  open  the  window.  The  river  and 
the  bridge  were  quiet  by  that  time,  but  through  the  breath- 
less night  air  there  came  the  music  of  a  waltz.  It  was  the 
last  dance  of  the  visiting  season  at  an  hotel  near  by — a 
number  of  British  officers  were  dancing  on  the  edge  of  the 
volcano. 

Gordon  shut  the  window  and  again  threw  himself  on 
the  bed.  At  length  the  problem  that  tormented  him  seemed 
to  resolve  itself  into  one  issue.  His  father  did  not  realise 
that  the  Moslems  would  die  rather  than  give  up  possession 
of  their  holy  place,  and  that  in  order  to  turn  them  out  of 
it  he  would  have  to  destroy  them — slaughter  them.  A  man 
could  not  outrage  the  most  sacred  of  human  feelings  with- 
out being  morally  blind  to  what  he  was  doing.  His  father 
was  a  great  man — a  thousand  times  greater  than  he  himself 
could  ever  hope  to  be — but  in  this  case  he  was  blind  and 
somebody  had  to  open  his  eyes. 

"I'll  go  and  bring  him  to  reason,"  he  thought.  "He 
may  insult  me  if  he  likes,  but  no  matter!  " 

The  last  cab  had  rattled  home  and  the  streets  were  silent 
when  Gordon  reached  the  entrance  to  the  Agency.    Then  he 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  105 

saw  that  it  was  late,  for  the  house  was  in  darkness,  and 
not  even  the  window  of  the  library  showed  a  light.  The 
moon  was  full,  and  he  looked  at  his  watch.  Good  heavens  1 
It  was  two  o'clock! 

The  house  dog  heard  his  footsteps  on  the  gravel  path, 
and  barked  and  bounded  toward  him;  then,  recognising  him, 
it  began  to  snuffle  and  to  lick  his  hands.  At  the  same 
moment  a  light  appeared  in  an  upper  window.  It  was  the 
window  of  his  mother's  room,  and  at  sight  of  it  his  reso- 
lution began  to  ebb  away,  and  he  was  once  more  seized  with 
uncertainty. 

Strife  between  himself  and  his  father  would  extinguish 
the  last  rays  of  his  mother's  flickering  life.  He  could  see 
her  looking  at  him  with  her  pleading  and  frightened  eyes. 

"  Am  I  really  going  to  kill  my  mother — that,  too  ?  "  he 
thought. 

He  was  as  far  as  ever  from  knowing  what  course  he 
ought  to  take  to-morrow,  but  the  light  in  his  mother's  win- 
dow, filtering  through  the  lace  curtains  that  were  drawn 
across  it,  was  like  a  tear-dimmed,  accusing  eye,  and  with  a 
new  emotion  he  was  compelled  to  turn  away. 


XXI 

As  two  o'clock  struck  on  the  soft  cathedral  bell  of  a 
little  clock  by  the  side  of  her  bed,  Fatimah  rose  with  a 
yawn,  switched  on  the  electric  light,  and  filled  a  small  glass 
from  a  bottle  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Time  to  take  your  medicine,  my  lady,"  she  said,  in  a 
sleepy  voice. 

Her  mistress  did  not  reply  immediately,  and  she  asked : 

"  Are  you  asleep  ?  " 

But  her  lady,  who  was  wide  awake,  whispered :  "  Hush ! 
Do  you  hear  Rover  ?     Isn't  that  somebody  on  the  path  ?  " 

Fatimah  listened  as  well  as  she  could  through  the  drums 
of  sleep  that  were  beating  in  her  ears,  and  then  she  an- 
swered : 


106  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"No;  I  hear  nothing." 

"  I  thought  it  was  Gordon's  footstep,"  said  the  old  lady, 
raising  herself  in  bed  to  take  the  medicine  that  Fatimah 
was  holding  out  to  her. 

"  It's  strange !  Gordon's  step  is  exactly  like  his  grand- 
father's." 

"  Don't  spill  it,  my  lady,"  said  Fatimah,  and  with  a 
trembling  hand  the  old  lady  drank  off  her  dose. 

"  He's  like  his  grandfather  in  other  things,  too.  I  re- 
member when  I  was  a  girl  there  was  a  story  of  how  he 
struck  one  of  his  soldiers  in  the  Civil  War,  thinking  the 
man  was  guilty  of  some  offence.  But  afterward  he  found 
the  poor  fellow  was  innocent  and  had  taken  the  blow  for  his 
brother  without  saying  a  word.  Father  never  forgave  him- 
self for  that — never !  " 

"  Shall  I  put  on  the  eiderdown  ?  The  nights  are  cold 
if  the  days  are  hot,  you  know." 

"  Yes — no — just  as  you  think  best,  nurse.  .  .  .  I'm  sure 
Gordon  will  do  what  is  right,  whatever  happens.  I'm  sorry 
for  his  father,  though.  Did  you  hear  what  he  said  when 
he  came  to  bid  me  good  night :  '  They  think  they've  caught 
me  now  that  they've  caught  my  son,  but  let  them  wait — 
we'll  see.' " 

"  Hush !  "  said  Fatimah,  and  she  pointed  to  the  wall  of 
the  adjoining  room.  From  the  other  side  of  it  came  the 
faint  sound  of  measured  footsteps. 

"  He's  walking  again — can't  sleep,  I  suppose,"  said  Fati- 
mah, in  a  drowsy  whisper, 

"Ah,  well!"  said  the  old  lady,  after  listening  for  a  mo- 
ment; and  then  Fatimah  put  out  the  light  and  went  back 
to  her  bed. 

"God  bless  my  boy!"  said  a  tremulous  voice  in  the 
darkness. 

After  that  there  was  a  sigh,  and  then  silence — save  for 
the  hollow  thud  of  footsteps  in  the  adjoining  room. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  107 


XXII 

Before  Gordon  was  out  of  bed  next  morning  Hafiz  rang 
him  up  on  the  telephone.  He  had  just  heard  from  his  uncle, 
the  Chancellor,  that  as  a  result  of  their  night-long  delibera- 
tion and  prayer  the  Ulema  had  decided  to  ask  the  Consul- 
General  to  receive  Ishmael  Ameer  and  listen  to  a  sug- 
gestion. 

"What  will  it  be?"  asked  Gordon. 

"  That  the  Government  should  leave  El  Azhar  alone  on 
condition  that  the  Ulema  consent  to  open  it,  and  all  the 
mosques  connected  with  it,  to  public  and  police  inspection, 
so  as  to  dissipate  the  suspicion  that  they  are  centres  of 
sedition." 

"  Splendid !  To  make  the  mosques  as  free  as  Christian 
churches  is  a  splendid  thought — an  inspiration.  But  if  the 
Government  will  not  agree,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  the  order  to  close  El  Azhar  will  be  resisted. 
'  Only  over  our  dead  bodies,'  they  say,  *  shall  the  soldiers 
enter  it.' " 

Gordon  went  about  his  work  that  morning  like  a  man 
dazed  and  dumb,  but  after  lunch  he  dressed  himself  care- 
fully in  his  full  staff  uniform,  with  his  aiguilettes  hanging 
from  his  left  shoulder,  his  gold  and  crimson  sash,  his  sword 
and  his  white  be-spiked  helmet.  He  put  on  all  his  medals  and 
decorations,  too — his  Distinguished  Service  Order;  his 
King's  and  South  African  War  Medal  with  four  clasps;  his 
British  Soudan  Medal;  his  Medjidieh,  and  his  Khedive's 
Medal  with  four  clasps.  It  was  not  for  nothing  that  he 
did  this,  nor  merely  because  he  was  going  to  an  official  con- 
ference, but  with  a  certain  pride  as  of  a  man  who  had  won 
the  right  to  consideration. 

Taking  a  cab  by  the  gate  of  the  barracks,  he  drove 
through  the  native  quarters  of  the  city  and  saw  crowds 
surging  through  the  streets  in  the  direction  of  El  Azhar. 
The  atmosphere  seemed  to  tingle  with  the  spirit  of  revo- 
lution, and  seeing  the  sublime  instinct  of  humanity  which 
leads  people  in   defence  of  their  faith  to  the  place  where 


108  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

danger  is  greatest,  he  felt  glad  and  proud  that  what  was 
best  in  him  was  about  to  conquer. 

Arriving  at  the  Citadel  he  found  Helena's  black  boy- 
waiting  for  him  at  the  door  of  the  General's  house  with  a 
message  from  his  mistress,  saying  the  gentlemen  had  not 
arrived  and  she  wished  to  see  him.  The  city  below  lay 
bright  under  the  warm  soolham  of  the  afternoon  sun,  and 
the  swallows  were  swirling  past  the  windows  of  Helena's 
sitting-room,  but  Helena  herself  was  under  a  cloud. 

"  I  see  what  it  is — you  are  angry  with  me  for  going  to 
El  Azhar  last  night,"  said  Gordon. 

"  No,  it  isn't  that,  though  I  think  you  might  have  kept 
faith  with  me,"  she  answered.  "  But  we  have  no  time  to 
lose,  and  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  In  the  first  place, 
I  want  you  to  know  that  Colonel  Macdonald,  your  Deputy 
Assistant  Adjutant,  has  been  ordered  to  stand  by.  He  will 
be  only  too  happy  to  take  your  place  if  necessary." 

"He's  welcome!"  said  Gordon. 

Her  brows  were  contracted,  her  lips  set.  She  fastened 
her  eyes  on  him  and  said : 

"  Then  there  is  something  else  I  wish  to  tell  you." 

"What  is  it,  Helena?" 

"  When  my  father  asked  me  if  I  could  marry  a  man 
who  had  disobeyed  and  been  degraded,  I  said  .  .  .  But  it 
doesn't  matter  what  I  said.  My  father  has  hardly  ever 
spoken  to  me  since.  It  has  been  the  first  cloud  that  has 
come  between  us — the  very  first.  But  when  I  answered  him 
as  I  did  there  was  something  I  had  forgotten." 

"What  was  it,  dearest?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  was — I  can  only  tell  you 
what  it  comes  to." 

"  What  does  it  come  to,  Helena  ?  " 

"  That  whatever  happens  to-day  I  can  never  leave  my 
father — never  as  long  as  he  lives." 

"  God  forbid  that  you  should  be  tempted  to  do  so — but 
why?" 

"  That  is  what  I  cannot  tell  you.    It  is  a  secret." 

"  I  can  think  of  no  secret  that  I  could  not  share  with 
you,  Helena." 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  109 

"  Nor  I  with  you — if  it  were  my  own — but  this  isn't." 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,  dear." 

"  Say  it  is  somebody's  else's  secret,  and  that  his  life,  his 
career,  depends  upon  it.  Say  it  couldn't  be  told  to  you 
without  putting  you  in  a  false  position,  involving  you  in 
responsibilities  which  you  have  no  right  to  bear." 

"  You  puzzle  me,  bewilder  me,  Helena." 

"Then  trust  me,  dear;  trust  me  for  the  present,  at  all 
events,  and  some  day  you  shall  know  everything,"  she  said, 
whereupon  Gordon,  who  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  her,  said : 

"  So  what  it  really  comes  to  is  this — that  whatever  course 
your  father  takes  to-day  I  must  take  it  also,  under  pain  of 
a  violent  separation  from  you !  Isn't  that  it,  Helena  ? 
Isn't  it?  And,  if  so,  isn't  it  like  sending  a  man  into  battle 
■with  his  hands  tied  and  his  eyes  blindfolded  ? " 

She  dropped  her  head,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  That  is  not  what  I  expected  of  you,  Helena.  The 
Helena  who  has  been  living  in  my  mind  is  a  girl  who 
would  say  to  me  at  a  moment  like  this,  *  Do  what  you  be- 
lieve to  be  right,  Gordon,  and  whether  you  are  degraded  to 
the  lowest  rank  or  raised  to  the  highest  honour,  I  will  be 
with  you — I  will  stand  by  your  side !  " 

Her  eyes  flashed  and  she  drew  herself  up. 

"  So  you  think  I  couldn't  say  that — that  I  didn't  say 
anything  like  it  when  my  father  spoke  to  me?  But  if  you 
have  been  thinking  of  me  as  a  girl  like  that,  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you  as  a  man  who  would  say,  *  I  love  you,  and 
do  you  know  what  my  love  means  ?  It  means  that  my  love 
for  you  is  above  everything  and  everj'body  in  the  world.' " 

"  And  it  is,  Helena,  it  is." 

"  Then  why,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  his,  "  why 
do  you  let  this  Egyptian  and  his  interests  come  between 
us?  If  you  take  his  part  after  what  I  have  just  told  you, 
will  it  not  be  the  same  thing  in  the  end  as  choosing  him 
against  me?  " 

"  Don't  vex  me,  Helena.  I've  told  you  before  that  your 
jealousy  of  this  man  is  nonsense." 

The  word  cut  her  to  the  quick  and  she  drew  herself  up 

again. 

9 


110  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Very  Avell,"  she  said,  with  a  new  force,  "  if  it's  jealousy 
and  if  it's  nonsense  you  must  make  your  account  with  it. 
I  said  I  couldri't  tell  you  why  I  cannot  leave  my  father — 
now  1  xvonH.  You  must  choose  between  us.  It  is  either 
that  man  or  me." 

"  You  mean  that  if  the  General  decides  against  Ishmael 
Ameer  you  will  follow  your  father,  and  that  I — whatever 
my  conscience  may  say — I  must  follow  you  ?  " 

Her  eyes  blazed  and  she  answered,  "  Yes." 

"Good  God,  Helena!  What  is  it  you  want  me  to  be? 
Is  it  a  man  or  a  manikin  ? " 

At  that  moment  the  young  lieutenant  who  was  the  Gen- 
eral's aide-de-camp  came  in  to  say  that  the  Consul-General 
and  the  Prime  Minister  had  arrived,  and  required  Colonel 
Lord's  attendance. 

"  Presently,"  said  Gordon,  and  as  soon  as  the  lieutenant 
had  gone  he  turned  to  Helena  again. 

"  Helena,"  he  said,  "  there  is  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Re- 
member, this  is  the  last  time  I  can  see  you  before  I  am 
required  to  act  one  way  or  the  other.  God  knows  what  may 
happen  before  I  come  out  of  that  room.  Will  you  send 
me  into  it  without  any  choice  ? " 

She  was  breathing  hard  and  biting  her  under  lip. 

"  Your  happiness  is  dearer  to  me  than  anything  else  in 
life,  dear;  but  I  am  a  man,  not  a  child,  and  if  I  am  to 
follow  your  father  in  order  not  to  lose  you,  I  must  know 
why.     Will  you  tell  me  ?  " 

Without  raising  her  eyes,  Helena  answered,  "  No !  " 

"  Very  well !  "  he  said.  "  In  that  case  it  must  be  as  the 
fates  determine."  And,  straightening  his  sword-belt,  he 
stepped  to  the  door. 

Helena  looked  up  at  him  and  in  a  fluttering  voice  called, 
"  Gordon !  " 

He  turned,  with  his  hand  on  the  handle.     "  What  is  it?  " 

For  one  instant  she  had  an  impulse  to  break  her  promise 
and  tell  him  of  her  father's  infirmity,  but  at  the  next  mo- 
ment she  thought  of  the  Egyptian  and  her  pride  and  jealousy 
conquered. 

"What  is  it,  Helena?" 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  HI 

"  Nothing,"  she  said,  and  fled  into  her  bedroom. 

Gordon  looked  after  her  until  she  had  disappeared,  and 
then — hot,  angry,  nervous,  less  able  than  before  to  meet  the 
ordeal  before  him — he  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and 
entered  the  General's  ofiice. 


XXIII 

The  Consul-General,  the  General,  and  the  Egyptian  pasha 
in  his  tarboosh  were  sitting  in  a  half-circle.  The  General's 
Military  Secretary,  Captain  Graham,  was  writing  at  the 
desk,  and  his  aide-de-camp,  Lieutenant  Robson,  was  standing 
beside  it.  Nobody  was  speaking  as  Gordon  entered,  and  the 
air  of  the  room  had  the  dumb  emptiness  which  goes  before 
a  storm.  The  General  signalled  to  Gordon  to  sit,  requested 
his  aide-de-camp  to  step  out  but  wait  in  his  own  office,  and 
then  said,  speaking  in  a  jerky,  nervous  way: 

"  Gordon,  I  have  an  order  of  the  utmost  importance  to 
give  you,  but  before  I  do  so  your  father  has  something  to 
say." 

With  that  he  took  a  seat  by  the  side  of  the  desk,  while  the 
Consul-General,  without  changing  the  direction  of  his  ej'es, 
said,  slowly  and  deliberately : 

"  I  need  hardly  tell  you,  Gordon,  that  the  explanation  I 
am  about  to  make  would  be  quite  unnecessary  in  the  case  of 
an  ordinary  officer  receiving  an  ordinary  command,  but  I 
have  decided  to  make  it  to  you  out  of  regard  to  the  fact  of 
who  you  are  and  what  your  relation  to  the  General  is  to  be." 

Gordon  bowed  without  speaking.  He  was  struggling  to 
compose  himself,  and  something  was  whispering  to  him, 
"  Above  all  things,  be  calm  !  " 

"  I  regret  to  say  the  Ulema  have  ignored  the  order  which 
His  Excellency  sent  to  them,"  said  the  Consul-General,  in- 
dicating the  pasha. 

"  Ignored  ?  " 

"  That's  what  it  comes  to,  though  it's  true  they  asked 
me  to  receive  the  man  Ishmael  Ameer  and  to  consider  a 
suggestion." 


112  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"You  did,  sir?" 

"  I  did.  The  man  came,  I  saw  him,  and  heard  what  he 
had  to  say — and  now  I  am  more  than  ever  convinced  that 
he  is  a  public  peril." 

"  A  peril  ?  " 

"  First,  because  he  advises  officers  and  men  to  ab- 
stain from  military  sei'vice  on  the  ground  that  war  is 
incompatible  with  religion.  That  is  opposed  to  the  exist- 
ing order  of  society,  and  therefore  harmful  to  good  gov- 
ernment." 

"  I  agree,"  said  the  General,  swinging  restlessly  in  his 
revolving  chair. 

"  Kext,  because  he  tells  the  Egyptian  people  that  where 
the  authority  of  the  law  is  opposed  to  what  he  is  pleased  to 
consider  the  commandments  of  God,  they  are  to  obey  God 
and  not  the  Government.  That  is  to  make  every  man  a  law 
to  himself  and  to  cause  the  rule  of  the  Government  to  be 
defied." 

The  pasha  smiled  and  bowed  his  thin  face  over  his  hands, 
which  were  clasped  at  his  breast. 

"  Finally,  because  he  says  openly  that  in  the  time  to  come 
Egypt  will  be  a  separate  State  with  a  peculiar  mission,  and 
that  means  Nationalism  and  the  end  of  the  rule  of  England 
in  the  Valley  of  the  Nile." 

Gordon  made  an  effort  to  speak,  but  his  father  waved  him 
aside. 

"  I  am  not  here  to  argue  with  you  about  the  man's  teach- 
ing, but  merely  to  define  it.  lie  is  one  of  the  mischievous 
people  who,  taking  no  account  of  the  religious  principles 
which  lie  at  the  root  of  civilisation,  would  use  religion  to 
turn  the  world  back  to  barbarism.  What  is  true  in  his  doc- 
trines is  not  new,  and  what  is  new  is  not  true.  As  for  his 
reforms  of  polygamy,  divorce,  seclusion  of  women,  and  so 
forth,  I  have  no  use  for  the  people  who,  in  Cairo  or  in 
London,  are  for  ever  correcting  the  proof-sheets  of  the  Al- 
mighty by  reading  their  holy  book  as  they  please,  whether 
it  is  the  Koran  or  the  Bible.  And  as  for  his  prophecies,  there 
are  such  things  as  mental  strong  drinks,  and  a  man  like  this 
is  providing  them." 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  113 

"  You  spoke  of  a  suggestion,  sir,"  said  Gordon,  who  was 
still  struggling  to  keep  calm. 

"  His  suggestion,"  said  the  Consul-General,  with  icy  com- 
posure— "  his  suggestion  was  an  aggravation  of  his  offence. 
He  proposed  that  we  should  leave  El  Azhar  unmolested  on 
condition  that  the  Ulema  opened  it  to  the  public.  That 
meant  that  the  Government  must  either  countenance  his 
sedition  or  suppress  it  by  the  stupid  means  of  discussing  his 
principles  in  courts  of  law." 

The  pasha  smiled  and  the  General  laughed,  and  then  in 
a  last  word  the  Consul-General  said,  quietly : 

"  General  Graves  will  now  tell  you  what  we  require  you 
to  do." 

The  General,  still  jerky  and  nervous,  then  said: 

"  All  the  necessary  preparations  have  been  made,  Gordon. 
The — the  Governor  of  the  city  will  call  you  up  at  your  quar- 
ters, and  on — on  receiving  his  message  you  will  take  a 
regiment  of  cavalry,  which  is  ready  here  in  the  Citadel,  and 
one  battalion  of  infantry,  which  is  under  arms  at  Kasr  el 
Nil,  and  accompany  him  to  El  Azhar.  There — as — as  com- 
mander of  the  troops,  you — at  the  request  of  the  Governor 
— you  will  take  such  military  steps  as  in  your  opinion  will 
be  required  to  enter  the  University — and — and  clear  out  its 
students  and  professors.  You  will  cause  ten  rounds  of  am- 
munition to  be  issued  to  the  men,  and  you  will  have  ab- 
solute discretion  as  to  the  way  you  go  to  work,  and  as  to 
the  amount  of  force  necessary  to  be  used,  but  you — of 
course,  you  will  be  responsible  for  everything  that  is  done — 
or  not  done — in  carrying  out  your  order.  I — I  ask  you  to 
attend  to  this  matter  at  once,  and  to  report  to  me  to-night 
if  possible." 

When  the  General's  flurried  words  were  spoken  there  was 
silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  Gordon,  trying  in  vain  to 
control  his  voice,  said,  haltingly : 

"  You  know  I  don't  want  to  do  this  work.  General,  and 
if  it  must  be  done  I  beg  of  you  to  order  some  one  else  to 
do  it." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  replied  the  General.  "  You  are  the 
proper  person  for  this  duty,  and  to  give  it  to  another  officer 


114  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

would  be  to — to  strengthen  the  party  of  rebellion  by  saying 
in  so  many  words  that  there  is  disaffection  in  our  own 
ranks." 

''  Then  permit  me  to  resign  my  appointment  on  your 
staff,  sir.  I  don't  want  to  do  so — God  knows  I  don't.  My 
rank  as  a  soldier  is  the  one  thing  in  the  world  I'm  proudest 
of,  but  I  would  rather  resign  it " 

''  Resign  it  if  you  please — if  you  are  so  foolish.  Send 
in  your  papers;  but  until  they  are  accepted  you  are  my 
officer,  and  I  must  ask  you  to  obey  my  order." 

Gordon  struggled  hard  with  himself,  and  then  said, 
boldly: 

"  General,  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  tell  you  that  you 
don't  know  what  you  are  asking  me  to  do." 

The  three  old  men  looked  sharply  round  at  him,  but  he 
was  now  keyed  up  and  did  not  care. 

"  No,  sir — none  of  you !  You  think  you  are  merely  ask- 
ing me  to  drive  out  of  El  Azhar  a  number  of  rebellious  stu- 
dents and  their  teachers.  But  you  are  really  asking  me  to 
kill  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  of  them." 

"  Fudge !  Fiddlesticks !  "  cried  the  General,  and  then, 
forgetting  the  presence  of  the  pasha,  he  said :  "  These  peo- 
ple are  Egyptians — miserable,  pigeon-livered  Egyptians!  Be- 
fore you  fire  a  shot  they'll  fly  away  to  a  man.  But  even 
if  they  stay,  the  responsibility  will  be  their  own — so  what 
the  dev " 

"  That's  just  where  we  join  issue.  General,"  said  Gordon. 
"  There  isn't  a  worm  that  hasn't  a  right  to  resent  a  wrong, 
and  this  will  be  a  wrong,  and  the  people  will  be  justified  in 
resenting  it." 

The  General,  who  was  breathing  hard,  turned  to  the 
Consul-General  and  said,  "  I'm  sorry,  my  lord,  very  sorry, 
but  you  see " 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  then  the  Consul-General, 
still  calm  on  the  outside  as  a  frozen  lake,  said,  "  Gordon, 
I  presume  you  know  what  you  will  be  doing  if  you  refuse  to 
obey  your  General's  order?" 

Gordon  did  not  answer,  and  his  father,  in  a  biting  note, 
continued: 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  115 

"  I  dare  say  you  suppose  you  are  following  the  dictates 
of  conscience,  and  I  don't  question  your  sincerity.  I'm  be- 
ginning to  see  that  this  Empire  of  ours  is  destined  to  be 
destroyed  in  the  end  by  its  humanitarians,  its  philanthro- 
pists, its  foolish  people  who  are  bewitched  by  good  inten- 
tions." 

The  sarcasm  was  cutting  Gordon  to  the  bone,  but  he  did 
not  reply,  and  presently  the  old  man's  voice  softened. 

"  I  presume  you  know  that  if  you  refuse  to  obey  your 
General's  order  you  will  be  dealing  a  blow  at  your  father — 
dishonouring  him,  accusing  him.  Your  refusal  will  go  far. 
There  will  be  no  hushing  it  up.  England  as  well  as  Egypt 
will  hear  of  it." 

A  deep  flush  overspread  the  Proconsul's  face. 

"  For  forty  years  I've  been  doing  the  work  of  civilisation 
in  this  country.  I  think  progress  has  received  a  certain  im- 
petus. And  now,  when  I  am  old  and  my  strength  is  not 
what  it  was  once,  my  son — my  only  son — is  pulling  the  lever 
that  is  to  bring  my  house  down  over  my  head." 

The  old  man's  voice  trembled  and  almost  broke. 

"  You've  not  thought  of  that,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Gordon's  emotions  almost  mastered  him.  "  Yes,  sir,"  he 
said,  "  I  have  thought  of  it,  and  it's  a  great  grief  to  me  to 
oppose  you.  But  it  would  be  a  still  greater  grief  to  help 
you — to  help  you  to  undo  all  the  great  work  you  have  ever 
done  in  Egypt.  Father,  believe  me,  I  know  what  I'm  saying. 
There  will  be  bloodshed,  and  as  sure  as  that  happens  there 
will  be  an  outciy  all  over  the  Mohammedan  world.  The 
prestige  of  England  will  suffer — in  India — in  Europe — 
America — everywhere.  And  you,  father,  you  alone  will  be 
blamed." 

At  that  the  General  rose  in  great  wrath,  but  the  Consul- 
General  interposed. 

"  One  moment,  please !  I  am  anxious  to  make  allow- 
ances for  fanaticism,  and  at  a  moment  of  tension  I  could 
wish  to  avoid  any  act  that  might  create  a  conflagration. 
Therefore,"  he  said,  turning  to  Gordon,  "  if  you  are  so  sure 
that  there  will  be  bloodshed,  I  am  willing  to  hold  my  hand, 
on  one  condition — that  the  man  Ishmael,  the  mouthpiece  of 


116  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

the  sedition  we  wisli  to  suppress,  should  leave  Egypt  with- 
out delay." 

Gordon  did  not  reply  immediately,  and  his  father  con- 
tinued :  "  Why  not  ?  It  is  surely  better  that  one  man  should 
go  than  that  the  whole  nation  should  suffer.  Send  him  out, 
drive  him  out,  walk  him  over  the  frontier,  and  for  the  pres- 
ent I  am  satisfied." 

"  Father,"  said  Gordon,  "  what  you  ask  me  to  do  is  im- 
possible. The  Egj'ptians  believe  Ishmael  to  be  one  of  the 
prophets  who  are  sent  into  the  world  to  keep  the  souls  of 
men  alive.  He  is  like  the  Mahdi  to  them,  and — who  knows? 
— they  may  come  to  think  of  him  as  the  Redeemer,  the 
Christ,  who  is  to  pacify  the  world.  Right  or  wrong,  they 
think  of  him  already  as  a  living  protest  against  that  part 
of  Western  civilisation  which  is  the  result  of  force  and 
fraud.  Therefore,  to  drive  him  out  of  the  country  would  be 
the  same  thing  to  them  as  to  drive  out  religion.  In  their 
view  it  would  be  a  sin  against  humanity — a  sin  against 
God." 

But  the  General  could  bear  no  more.  Rising  from  the 
desk,  he  said,  contemptuously: 

"  All  that's  very  fine,  very  exalted,  I  dare  say,  but  we  are 
plain  soldiers,  you  and  I,  and  we  cannot  follow  the  flights 
of  great  minds  like  these  Mohammedan  Sheikhs.  So  with- 
out further  argument  I  ask  you  if  you  are  willing  to  carry 
out  the  order  I  have  given  you." 

"  It  would  be  a  crime,  sir." 

"  Crime  or  no  crime,  it  would  be  no  concern  of  yours. 
Do  you  refuse  to  obey  my  order?" 

"  Recall  your  order,  sir,  and  I  shall  have  no  reason  to 
refuse  to  obey  it." 

"  Do  you  refuse  to  obey  my  order  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  against  my  conscience.  General." 

"Your  conscience  is  not  in  question.  Your  only  duty  is 
to  carry  out  the  will  of  yoiir  superior." 

"When  I  accepted  my  commission  in  the  army  did  I  lose 
my  rights  as  a  human  being,  sir?" 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  losing  yoiir  rights.  In  the  face 
of  duty  an  officer  loses  father  and  mother,  wife  and  child. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  117 

According  to  the  King's  regulations,  you  are  an  officer  first, 
remember." 

"No,  sir;  according  to  the  King's  regulations  I  am  first 
of  all  a  man." 

The  General  bridled  his  gathering  anger  and  answered: 
"  Of  course,  you  can  ask  for  a  written  order — if  you  wish 
to  avoid  the  danger  of  blame." 

"  I  wish  to  avoid  the  danger  of  doing  wrong,  sir,"  said 
Gordon,  and  then,  glancing  toward  his  father,  he  added : 
"  Let  me  feel  that  I'm  fighting  for  the  right.  An  English 
soldier  cannot  fight  without  that." 

"  Then  I  ask  you  as  an  English  soldier  if  you  refuse  to 
obey  my  order?"  repeated  the  General.  But  Gordon,  still 
with  his  face  toward  his  father,  said : 

"  Wherever  the  English  flag  flies  men  say,  *  Here  is 
justice.'  That's  something  to  be  proud  of.  Don't  let  us 
lose  it,  sir." 

"  I  ask  you  again,"  said  the  General,  "  if  you  refuse  to 
obey  my  order  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  wrong  things  without  knowing  them,"  said 
Gordon,  "  but  when  you  ask  me  to " 

"  England  asks  you  to  obey  your  General — will  you  do 
it?"  said  General  Graves;  and  then  Gordon  faced  back  to 
him,  and  in  a  voice  that  rang  through  the  room  he  said : 

"No;  not  for  England  will  I  do  what  I  know  to  be 
wrong." 

At  that  the  Consul-General  waved  his  hand  and  said, 
"  Let  us  have  done  " ;  whereupon  General  Graves,  who  was 
now  violently  agitated,  touched  a  hand-bell  on  the  desk,  and 
when  his  servant  appeared  he  said : 

"  Tell  my  daughter  to  come  to  me." 

Not  a  word  more  was  spoken  until  light  footsteps  were 
heard  approaching,  and  Helena  came  into  the  room  with  a 
handkerchief  in  her  hand,  pale  as  if  she  had  been  crying, 
and  breathless  as  if  she  had  been  running  hard.  The  three 
old  gentlemen  rose  and  bowed  to  her  as  she  entered,  but 
Gordon,  whose  face  had  frowned  when  he  heard  the  Gen- 
eral's command,  rose  and  sat  down  again  without  turning 
in  her  direction. 


lis  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

"  Sit  down,  Helena,"  said  the  General ;  and  Helena  sat, 

"  Helena,  you  will  remember  that  I  asked  you  if  you 
could  marry  an  officer  who,  for  disobedience  to  his  General 
— and  that  General  your  father — had  been  court-martialled 
and  perhaps  degraded  ?  " 

In  a  scarcely  audible  voice  Helena  answered,  "  Yes." 

"  Then  tell  Colonel  Lord  Avhat  course  you  will  take  if, 
by  his  own  deliberate  act,  that  misfortune  should  befall 
him." 

A  hot  blush  mounted  to  Helena's  cheeks,  and,  looking  at 
the  hem  of  her  handkerchief,  she  said : 

"  Gordon  knows  already  what  I  would  say,  father.  There 
is  no  need  to  tell  him." 

Then  the  General  turned  back  to  Gordon.  "  You  hear  ?  " 
he  said.  "  I  presume  you  understand  Helena's  answer.  For 
the  sake  of  our  mutual  peace  and  happiness  I  wished  to  give 
you  one  more  chance.  The  issue  is  now  plain.  Either  you 
obey  your  General's  order  or  you  renounce  all  hope  of  his 
daughter — which  is  it  to  be  ?  " 

The  young  man  swallowed  his  anger,  and  answered :  "  Is 
it  fair,  sir — fair  to  Helena,  I  mean — to  put  her  to  a  test 
like  that — either  violent  separation  from  her  father  or  from 
me?  But  as  you  have  spoken  to  Helena,  I  ask  you  to  allow 
me  to  do  so  also." 

"  No ;  I  forbid  it,"  said  the  General. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  sir.  I'm  not  going  to  appeal  over  your 
head  to  any  love  for  me  in  Helena's  heart.  That  must  speak 
for  itself  now — if  it's  to  speak  at  all.  But  " — his  voice  was 
so  soft  and  low  that  it  could  hardly  be  heard — "  I  wish  to 
ask  her  a  question.     Helena " 

"  I  forbid  it,  I  tell  you,"  said  the  General,  hotly. 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence,  and  then  Gordon, 
who  had  suddenly  become  hoarse,  said :  "  You  spoke  about  a 
written  order,  General.    Give  it  to  me." 

"With  pleasure!"  said  the  General,  and,  turning  to  his 
Military-  Secretary  at  the  desk,  he  requested  him  to  make 
out  an  order  in  the  Order  Book  according  to  the  terms  of  his 
verbal  command. 

Nothing  was  heard  in  the  silence  of  the  next  moment  but 


THE   CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  119 

the  spasmodic  scratching  of  Captain  Graham's  quill  pen. 
The  Consul-General  sat  motionless,  and  the  pasha  merely 
smoothed  one  white  hand  over  the  other.  Gordon  tried  to 
glance  into  Helena's  face,  but  she  looked  fixedly  before  her 
out  of  her  large,  wide-open,  swollen  eyes. 

Only  one  idea  shaped  itself  clearly  through  the  storm 
that  raged  in  Gordon's  brain:  to  secure  his  happiness  with 
Helena  he  must  make  himself  unhappy  in  every  other  rela- 
tion in  life — to  save  himself  from  degradation  as  a  soldier 
he  must  degrade  himself  as  a  man. 

Presently,  through  the  whirling  mist  of  his  half -con- 
sciousness, he  was  aware  that  the  Military  Secretary  had 
ceased  writing,  and  that  the  General  was  offering  him  a  paper. 

"  Here  it  is,"  the  General  was  saying,  with  a  certain  bit- 
terness. "  Now  you  may  set  your  mind  at  ease.  If  there 
are  any  bad  consequences  you  can  preserve  your  reputation 
as  an  officer.  And  if  there  are  any  complaints  from  the  War 
Office,  or  anywhere  else,  you  can  lay  the  blame  on  me.  You 
can  go  on  with  your  duty  without  fear  for  your  honour,  and 
when " 

But  Gordon,  whose  gorge  had  risen  at  everj'  word,  sud- 
denly lost  control  of  himself,  and,  getting  up  with  the  paper 
in  his  hand,  he  said : 

"  ISTo,  I  will  not  go  on.  Do  you  suppose  I  have  been 
thinking  of  myself?  Take  back  your  order.  There  is  no 
obedience  due  to  a  sinful  command,  and  this  command  is 
sinful.  It  is  wicked,  it  is  mad,  it  is  abominable.  You  are 
asking  me  to  commit  murder — that's  it — murder — and  I  will 
not  commit  it.  There's  your  order — take  it  back,  and  damn 
it!" 

So  saying,  he  crushed  the  paper  in  his  hands  and  flung 
it  on  the  desk. 

At  the  next  instant  everybody  in  the  room  had  risen. 
There  was  consternation  on  every  face,  and  the  General, 
who  was  choking  with  anger,  was  saying,  in  a  half-stifled 
voice : 

"  You  are  no  fool — you  know  what  you  have  done  now. 
You  have  not  only  refused  to  obey  orders — you  have  insulted 
your  General  and  been  guilty  of  deliberate  insubordination. 


120  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Therefore  you  are  unworthy  of  bearing  arms.    Give  me  your 
sword.'' 

Gordon  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  the  General  said: 

"  Give  it  me — give  it  me  I  " 

Then  witli  a  rapid  gesture  Gordon  unbuckled  his  sword 
from  the  belt  and  handed  it  to  the  General. 

The  General  held  it  in  both  his  hands,  which  were  vi- 
brating like  the  parts  of  an  engine  from  the  moving  power 
■within,  while  he  said,  in  the  same  half-stifled  voice  as  before: 

"  You  have  had  the  greatest  opportunity  that  ever  came 
to  an  English  soldier  and — thrown  it  away.  You  have  hu- 
miliated your  father,  outraged  the  love  of  your  intended 
wife,  and  insulted  England.    Therefore  you  are  a  traitor !  " 

Gordon  quivered  visibly  at  that  word,  and,  seeing  this, 
the  General  hurled  it  at  him  again. 

"  A  traitor,  I  say.  A  traitor  who  has  consorted  with  the 
enemies  of  his  country."  "With  that  he  drew  the  sword  from 
its  scabbard,  broke  it  across  his  knee,  and  flung  the  frag- 
ments at  Gordon's  feet. 

Helena  turned  and  fled  from  the  room  in  agony  at  the 
harrowing  scene,  and  the  Consul-General,  unable  to  bear  the 
sight  of  it,  rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  his  face  broken 
up  with  pain  as  no  one  had  ever  seen  it  before. 

Then  the  General,  who  had  been  worked  up  to  a  towering 
rage  by  his  own  words  and  acts,  lost  himself  utterly,  and 
saying :  "  You  are  unfit  to  wear  the  decorations  of  an 
English  soldier.  Take  them  off — take  them  off!"  he  laid 
hold  of  Gordon's  medals — the  Distinguished  Service  Order, 
the  South  African  Medal  with  its  four  clasps,  the  British 
Soudan  Medal,  the  Medjidieh,  and  the  Khedive's  star — and 
tore  them  from  his  tunic,  ripping  pieces  of  the  cloth  away 
with  them,  and  threw  them  on  the  ground. 

Then,  in  a  voice  like  the  scream  of  a  wild  bird,  he  cried : 
"  Xow  go !  Go  back  to  your  quarters  and  consider  yourself 
under  arrest.  Or  take  my  advice  and  be  off  altogether.  Quit 
the  army  you  have  dishonoured  and  the  friends  you  have 
disgraced,  and  hide  your  infamous  conduct  in  some  foreign 
land.     Leave  the  room  at  once !  " 

Gordon  had  stood  through  this  gross  indignity  bolt  up- 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  121 

right,  and  without  speaking.  His  face  had  become  deathly- 
white  and  his  colourless  lower  lip  had  trembled.  At  the 
end,  while  the  old  General  was  taking  gusts  of  breath,  he 
tried  to  say  something,  but  his  tongue  refused  to  speak.  At 
length  he  staggered  rather  than  walked  to  the  door,  and,  with 
his  hand  on  the  handle,  he  turned,  and  said,  quietly,  but  in 
a  voice  which  his  father  never  afterward  forgot : 

"  General,  the  time  may  come  when  it  will  be  even  more 
painful  to  you  to  remember  all  this  than  it  has  been  to  me 
to  bear  it." 

Then  he  stumbled  out  of  the  room. 


XXIV 

Out  in  the  hall  he  had  an  impulse  to  turn  toward 
Helena's  room  on  the  right;  but  through  his  half-blind  eyes 
he  saw  Helena  herself  on  the  left,  standing  by  the  open  en- 
trance to  the  garden,  with  her  handkerchief  at  her  mouth. 

"  Helena !  " 

She  made  a  little  nervous  crj',  but  stifling  it  in  her  throat 
she  turned  hotly  round  on  him. 

"  You  told  me  that  love  was  above  everything,"  she  said, 
"  and  this  is  how  you  love  me !  " 

Torn  as  he  was  to  his  heart's  core,  outraged  as  he  be- 
lieved himself  to  be,  he  made  a  feeble  effort  to  excuse  himself. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Helena — it  was  impossible  for  me  to 
act  otherwise." 

"  Oh,  I  know  !  I  know !  "  she  said.  "  You  were  doing 
what  you  thought  to  be  right.  But  I  am  no  match  for  you. 
You  have  duties  that  are  higher  than  your  duty  to  me." 

Her  tone  cut  him  to  the  quick,  and  he  tried  to  speak,  but 
could  not.  Like  a  drowning  man  he  stretched  out  his  hand 
to  her,  but  she  made  no  response. 

"It  was  not  to  be,  I  see  that  now,"  she  said,  while  her 
eyes  filled  and  her  bosom  heaved.  "  I  am  not  worthy  of  you. 
But  I  loved  you  and  I  thought  you  loved  me,  and  I  believed 
you  when  you  told  me  that  nothing  could  come  between  us." 


122  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Again  he  tried  to  speak,  to  explain,  to  protest,  but  his 
tongue  would  not  utter  a  sound. 

"  If  you  had  really  loved  me  you  would  have  been  ready 
to  .  .  .  even  to  .  .  .  But  I  was  mistaken  and  I  am  pun- 
ished, and  this  is  how  it  is  to  end ! "' 

"  Helena,  for  God's  sake — "  he  began,  but  he  could  bear 
no  more.  He  did  not  see  that  the  girl's  love  was  fighting 
with  her  pride.  The  hideous  injustice  of  it  all  was  work- 
ing like  madness  in  his  brain,  and  after  a  moment  he  turned 
to  go. 

As  he  walked  across  the  garden  the  ground  under  his 
feet  sounded  hollow  in  his  ears,  like  the  ground  above  a  new- 
covered  grave.  When  he  reached  the  gate  he  thought  he 
heard  Helena  calling  in  a  pleading,  sobbing  voice: 

"  Gordon !  " 

But  when  he  turned  to  look  back  she  had  disappeared. 

Then,  bareheaded,  without  helmet  or  sword,  with  every 
badge  of  rank  and  honour  gone,  he  pulled  the  gate  open  and 
staggered  into  the  square. 


XXV 

Helena  returned  to  her  father's  room  and  found  the  two 
old  men  getting  ready  to  go.  In  the  pasha's  face  there  were 
traces  of  that  impulse  to  smile  which  comes  to  shallow 
natures  in  the  presence  of  another  person's  troubles.  But 
the  face  of  the  Consul-General  was  a  tragic  sight.  The 
square-set  jaw  hung  low,  and  the  eyes  were  heavy  as  with 
unshed  tears.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  iron  man  was 
deeply  moved — that  the  depths  of  his  ice-bound  soul  were 
iitterly  broken  up. 

Only  in  short,  disjointed  sentences  did  he  speak  at  all. 
It  was  about  his  enemies — the  corrupt,  cruel,  and  hypo- 
critical upholders  of  the  old,  dark  ways.  They  had  bided 
their  time;  they  had  taken  their  revenge;  they  had  hit  him 
at  last  where  he  could  least  bear  a  blow;  they  had  struck 
him  in  the  face  with  the  hand  of  his  only  son. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  123 

"  There  is  no  shame  left  in  them,"  he  said,  and  then  he 
turned  to  Helena  as  if  intending  to  say  some  word  of  sym- 
pathy. He  wanted  to  tell  her  that  he  had  hoped  for  other 
things,  and  would  have  been  happy  if  they  had  come  to  pass. 
But  when  he  saw  the  girl  standing  before  him  with  her  red 
eyes  and  pale  cheeks  he  hesitated,  grasped  her  hand,  held  it 
for  a  moment,  and  then  walked  away  without  a  word. 

The  Military  Secretary  accompanied  the  Consul-General 
and  the  pasha  to  their  carriages,  and  so  father  and  daughter 
were  left  together.  The  General,  labouring  under  the  most 
painful  of  all  senses,  the  sense  of  having  done  an  unworthy 
thing,  walked  for  some  minutes  about  the  room  and  talked 
excitedly,  while  Helena  sat  on  the  sofa  in  silence,  and,  rest- 
ing her  chin  on  her  hand,  looked  fixedly  before  her. 

"Well,  well,  it's  all  over,  thank  God!  It  couldn't  be 
helped,  either.  It  had  to  be.  Better  as  it  is,  too,  than  if 
it  had  come  later  on.  .  .  .  How  hot  I  am !  My  throat  is  like 
fire.     Get  me  a  drink  of  water,  girl." 

"  Let  me  give  you  your  medicine,  father.  It's  here  on 
the  desk,"  said  Helena. 

"No,  no!  Water,  girl,  water!  That's  right.  There! 
.  .  .  He  has  gone,  I  suppose?  Has  he  gone?  Yes?  Good 
thing,  too.  Hope  I'll  never  see  him  again.  I  never  will — 
never!  .  .  .  How  my  head  aches!     No  wonder,  either." 

"You're  ill,  father;  let  me  run  for  the  doctor." 

"  Certainly  not.  I'm  all  right.  Sit  down,  girl — sit  down 
and  don't  worry.  .  .  .  You  mustn't  mind  me.  I'm  a  bit  put 
out — naturally.  It's  hard  for  you,  I  know,  but  don't  cry, 
Helena." 

"  I'm  not  crying,  father — you  see  I'm  not." 

"  That's  right !  That's  right,  dear !  It's  hard  for  you, 
I  say,  but  then  it  isn't  easy  for  me,  either.  I  liked  him; 
I  did — I  confess  it.  I  really  liked  him,  and  to  ...  to  do 
that  was  like  cutting  off  one's  own  son.  But  .  .  .  give  me 
another  drink  of  water,  Helena  ...  or,  perhaps,  if  you 
think  you  ought  to  run  .  .  .  no,  give  me  the  medicine,  and 
I'll  be  better  presently." 

She  poured  out  a  dose  and  he  drank  it  off. 

"  Now  I'll  lie  down  and  close  my  eyes.    I  soon  get  better 


124  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

when  I  lie  down  and  close  my  eyes,  you  know.  And  don't 
fret,  dear.  Think  what  an  escape  you've  had!  Merciful 
heavens!  A  traitor!  Think  if  you  had  married  a  traitor! 
A  man  who  had  sold  himself  to  the  enemies  of  England !  I 
was  proud  of  you  when  you  showed  him  that,  come  what 
would,  you  must  stand  by  your  country.  Splendid!  Just 
what  I  expected  of  you,  Helena.    Splendid !  " 

After  a  while  his  excited  speech  and  gusty  breathing 
softened  down  to  silence  and  to  something  like  sleep,  and 
then  Helena  sat  on  a  stool  beside  the  sofa  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  A  hot  flush  mounted  to  her  pale  cheeks 
when  she  remembered  that  it  had  not  been  for  England  that 
she  had  acted  as  she  had,  but  first  for  her  father  and  next 
for  herself. 

Perhaps  she  ought  to  have  told  Gordon  why  she  could  not 
leave  her  father.  If  she  had  done  so  he  might  have  acted 
otherwise.  But  the  real  author  of  the  whole  trouble  had  been 
the  Egyptian.  How  she  hated  that  man !  With  all  the  bit- 
terness of  her  tortured  heart  she  hated  him. 

As  for  Gordon,  traitor  or  no  traitor,  he  had  been  above 
them  all !  Far,  far  above  everybody !  Even  the  Consul-Gen- 
eral,  now  she  came  to  think  of  it,  had  been  a  little  man  com- 
pared with  his  son. 

With  her  face  buried  in  both  hands  and  the  tears  at 
last  trickling  through  her  fingers,  she  saw  everything  over 
again,  and  one  thing  above  all — Gordon  standing  in  silence 
while  her  father  insulted  and  degraded  him. 

The  General  opened  his  eyes,  and  seeing  Helena  at  his 
feet  he  tried  to  comfort  her,  but  every  word  he  spoke  went 
like  iron  into  her  soul. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Helena — very  sorry !  We  must  bear 
this  trouble  together,  dear.  Only  ourselves  again  now,  you 
know,  just  as  it  was  five  years  ago  at  home.  Your  dark  hour 
this  time,  darling;  but  I'll  make  it  up  to  you.  Come,  kiss 
me,  Helena,"  and,  drj'ing  her  weary  eyes,  she  kissed  him. 

The  afternoon  sun  was  then  reddening  the  alabaster  walls 
of  the  mosque  outside,  and  they  heard  a  surging  sound  as 
of  a  crowd  approaching.  A  moment  later  little  black  Mosie 
ran  in  to  say  that  the  new  Mahdi  was  coming,  and  almost 


THE    CRESCENT    AXD    THE    CROSS  125 

before  the  General  and  Helena  could  rise  to  their  feet  a  tall 
man  in  white  Oriental  costume  entered  the  room.  He  came 
in  slowly,  solemnly,  and  with  head  bent,  saying : 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  come  without  ceremony " 

"  Ishmael  Ameer?"  asked  the  General. 

"  My  name  is  Ishmael — you  are  the  Commander  of  the 
British  forces.     May  I  speak  with  you  alone?" 

The  General  stood  still  for  a  moment,  measuring  his  man 
from  head  to  foot,  and  then  said : 

"  Leave  us,  Helena." 

Helena  hesitated,  and  the  General  said,  "  I'm  better  now 
— leave  us." 

With  that  she  went  out  reluctantly,  turning  at  the  door 
to  look  at  her  enemy,  who  stood  in  his  great  height  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  and  never  so  much  as  glanced  in  her  di- 
rection. 


XXVI 

Both  men  continued  to  stand  during  the  interview  that 
followed — the  one  in  his  white  robes,  by  the  end  of  the  sofa, 
resting  two  tapering  fingers  upon  it,  the  other  in  his  Gen- 
eral's uniform  by  the  side  of  the  desk,  except  when,  in  the 
heat  of  his  anger,  he  strode  with  heavy  step  and  the  jingling 
of  spurs  across  the  space  between. 

"  Now,  sir,  now,"  said  the  General.  "  I  have  urgent  work 
to  do,  and  not  much  time  to  give  you.    What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  come,"  said  Ishmael,  who  was  outwardly  very  calm, 
though  his  large  black  eyes  were  full  of  fire  and  light,  "I 
come  to  speak  to  you  about  the  order  to  close  El  Azhar." 

"  Then  you  come  to  the  wrong  place,"  said  the  General, 
sharply.  "You  should  go  to  the  Agency— the  British 
Agency." 

"I  have  seen  the  English  lord  already.  He  refuses  to 
withdraw  his  order.  Therefore  I  am  here  to  ask  you— for- 
give me — I  am  here  to  ask  you  not  to  obey  it." 

The  General  tried  to  laugh.  "Wonderful!"  he  said. 
"Your  Eastern  ideas  of  discipline  are  wonderful!     Please 


126  THE    WHITE    TEOrHET 

understand,  sir,  I  am  here  as  the  instrument  of  authority — 
that,  and  that  only." 

"  An  instrument  has  its  responsibility,"  said  Ishmael. 
"  If  there  were  no  instruments  to  do  evil  deeds,  would  evil 
deeds  be  done  ?  It  is  not  your  fault,  sir,  that  the  order  has 
been  issued,  but  it  will  be  your  fault  if  it  is  carried  into 
effect." 

"  Really ! "  said  the  General,  again  trying  to  laugh. 
"  Permit  me  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  in  this  case  there  will  be 
no  fault  in  question,  either  of  mine  or  anybody'  else's.  El 
Azhar  is  a  hotbed  of  sedition,  and  it  is  high  time  the  Govern- 
ment cleared  it  out." 

"  El  Azhar,"  said  Ishmael,  "  is  the  heart  of  the  Moslem 
faith.  Take  their  religion  away  from  them  and  the  Moslems 
have  nothing  left.  You  are  a  Christian,  and  when  your 
great  Master  was  on  earth  He  fed  the  souls  of  the  people 
first." 

"  Yes,  and  he  whipped  the  rascals  out  of  the  temple,  and 
that's  what  the  Government  is  going  to  do  now — to  drive 
out  the  pretentious  impostors  who  are  putting  a  lying  spirit 
into  the  mouth  of  the  people  and  making  it  impossible  to 
govern  them." 

The  Egyptian  showed  no  anger.  "  I  am  here  only  to 
plead  for  the  people,  sir.  Do  not  harden  your  heart  against 
them.  Do  not  send  armed  men  among  an  unarmed  popu- 
lace.    It  will  be  slaughter." 

"  Tell  them  to  submit  to  the  Government,  and  there  will 
be  no  harm  done  to  anyone.  It's  their  duty,  isn't  it  ?  What- 
ever the  Government  may  be,  isn't  it  their  duty  to  submit 
to  it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ishmael.  "  We  who  are  Moslems  are  taught 
by  the  Prophet — blessed  be  his  name — that  even  if  a 
negro  slave  is  appointed  to  rule  over  us  we  ought  to  obey 
him." 

"Deuce  take  it,  sir,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said 
the  General. 

"  But  government  is  a  trust  from  God,"  said  the  Egyp- 
tian, "  and  at  the  day  of  Resurrection  the  Most  High  will 
ask  you  what  you  have  done  to  Ilis  children." 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  127 

"  Damn  it,  sir,  have  you  come  here  to  preach  me  a  ser- 
mon ? " 

"  I  have  come  to  plead  with  you  for  justice — the  justice 
you  look  for  from  your  Saviour.  Be  merciful  to  the  vfeak. 
He  taught,  and  it  is  for  the  weak  I  appeal  to  you.  He  was 
meek  and  lowly — will  you  forget  His  precepts  ?  '  Love  one 
another ' — will  you  make  strife  between  man  and  man  ?  He 
is  dead — shall  it  be  said  that  His  spirit  has  died  out  among 
those  who  call  Him  their  Redeemer?" 

The  General  brought  his  fist  heavily  down  on  the  desk 
as  if  to  command  silence. 

"  Listen  here,  sir,"  he  said.  "  If  you  imagine  for  one 
moment  that  this  tall  talk  will  have  any  effect  upon  me, 
let  me  advise  you  to  drop  it.  Being  a  plain  soldier  who  has 
received  a  plain  conunand,  I  shall  take  whatever  military 
steps  are  necessary  to  see  it  faithfully  carried  out,  and  if 
the  precious  leaders  of  the  people,  playing  on  their  credulity 
and  fanaticism,  should  instigate  rebellion,  I  shall  have  the 
honour — understand  me  plainly — I  shall  have  the  honour 
to  lodge  them  in  safe  quarters,  whosoever  they  are  and  what- 
soever their  pretensions  may  be." 

The  Egyptian's  eyes  showed  at  that  moment  that  he  was 
a  man  capable  of  wild  frenzy,  but  he  controlled  himself  and 
answered : 

"  I  am  not  here  to  defend  myself,  sir.  You  can  take  me 
now  if  you  choose  to  do  so.  But  if  I  cannot  plead  with  you 
for  the  people,  let  me  plead  with  you  for  yourself — your 
family." 

The  General,  who  had  turned  away  from  Ishmael,  swung 
round  on  him. 

"My  family?" 

" '  He  that  troubleth  his  own  house,'  saith  the  Koran, 
*  shall  inherit  the  wind.'  Will  you,  my  brother,  allow  your 
daughter  to  be  separated  from  the  brave  man  who  loves  her  ? 
A  woman  is  tender  and  sweet;  all  she  wants  is  love;  and 
love  is  a  sacred  thing,  sir.  Your  daughter  is  your  flesh  and 
blood — Avill  you  make  her  unhappy?  I  see  a  day  when  you 
are  dead — will  it  comfort  you  in  the  grave  that  two  who 
should  be  together  are  apart  ?  " 


128  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  They're  apart  already,  so  that's  over  and  done  with," 
said  the  General.  "  But  listen  to  me  again,  sir.  My  girl 
needs  none  of  your  pity.  She  has  done  her  duty  as  a  sol- 
dier's daughter,  and  cut  off  the  traitor  whom  you,  and  men 
like  you,  appear  to  have  corrupted.  Look  here — and  here," 
he  cried,  pointing  to  the  broken  sword  and  the  medals,  which 
were  still  lying  where  he  had  flung  them  on  the  floor.  "  The 
man  has  gone — gone  in  disgrace  and  shame.  That's  what 
you've  done  for  him,  if  it's  any  satisfaction  to  you  to  know 
it.  As  for  my  daughter,"  he  said,  raising  his  voice  in  his 
gathering  wrath  and  striding  iip  to  Ishmael  with  heavy  steps 
and  the  jingling  of  his  spurs — "as  for  my  daughter,  Helena 
— I  will  ask  you  to  be  so  good  as  to  keep  her  name  out  of  it. 
Do  you  hear  ?    Keep  her  name  out  of  it,  or  else " 

At  that  moment  the  men  heard  the  door  open  and  a 
woman's  light  footsteps  behind  them.  It  was  Helena  coming 
into  the  room. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  father  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No.     Go  back  immediately." 

She  looked  doubtfully  at  the  two  men,  who  were  now 
face  to  face  as  if  in  the  act  of  personal  quarrel,  hesitated, 
seemed  about  to  speak,  and  then  went  out  slowly. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  after  she  was  gone,  and 
then  Ishmael  said : 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  say,  sir,  that  Colonel  Lord  has 
gone  in  disgrace  ?  " 

"Yes;  for  consorting  with  the  enemies  of  his  country 
and  refusing  to  obey  the  order  of  his  General." 

"  Lost  his  place  and  rank  as  a  soldier?  " 

"  Soon  will,  and  then  he  will  be  alone  and  have  you  to 
thank  for  it." 

The  Egyptian  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height  and  an- 
swered :  "  You  are  wrong,  sir.  He  who  has  no  one  has  God, 
and  if  that  brave  man  has  suffered  rather  than  do  an  evil 
act,  will  God  forget  him?    No!" 

"  God  will  do  as  He  thinks  best  without  considering 
either  you  or  mo,  sir,"  said  the  General.  "  But  I  have  some- 
thing to  do,  and  I  will  ask  you  to  leave  me.  ...  Or  wait 
one  moment!     Lest  you  should  carry  away  the  impression 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  129 

that  because  Colonel  Lord  has  refused  to  obey  his  General's 
order  the  order  will  not  be  obeyed,  wait  and  see." 

He  touched  the  bell,  and  called  for  his  aide-de-camp. 

"  Tell  Colonel  Macdonald  to  come  to  me  immediately," 
said  the  General,  and  when  the  aide-de-camp  had  gone  he 
turned  to  his  desk  for  papers. 

The  Egyptian,  who  had  never  moved  from  his  place  by 
the  sofa,  now  took  one  step  forward  and  said  in  a  low, 
quivering  voice,  "  General,  I  have  appealed  to  you  on  behalf 
of  my  people  and  on  your  own  behalf,  but  there  is  one  thing 
more." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Your  country." 

The  General  made  an  impatient  gesture,  and  the  Egyp- 
tian said,  "Hear  me,  I  beg,  I  pray!  Eeal  as  life,  real  as 
death,  real  as  wells  of  water  in  a  desert  place,  is  their  re- 
ligion to  the  Muslemeen,  and  if  you  lay  so  much  as  your 
finger  upon  it  your  Government  will  die." 

He  raised  his  hand  and  with  one  trembling  finger  pointed 
upward.  "Do  you  think  your  swords  will  govern  them? 
What  can  your  swords  do  to  their  souls?  By  the  Most  High 
God,  1  swear  to  you  that  I  have  only  to  speak  the  word,  and 
the  rule  of  England  in  Egypt  will  end." 

At  that  moment  Colonel  Macdonald,  a  large  man  in 
khaki,  a  Highlander,  with  a  ruddy  face  and  a  glass  in  his 
left  eye,  opened  the  door  and  stood  by  it,  while  the  General, 
whose  own  face  was  scarlet  with  anger,  said : 

"  So !  So  that's  how  you  talked  to  Colonel  Lord,  I  pre- 
sume— how  you  darkened  the  poor  devil's  understanding! 
Xow  see — see  what  effect  your  threats  have  upon  me.  Step 
forward.  Colonel  Macdonald." 

The  Colonel  saluted  and  stepped  up  to  the  General,  who 
repeated  to  him  word  for  word  the  order  he  had  given  to 
Gordon,  and  then  said: 

"You  will  arrest  all  who  resist  you,  and  if  any  resist 
with  violence  you  will  compel  obedience — you  understand?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  saluting  again  he  left 
the  room. 

"Now,   sir,  you   can  go,"  said   the  General   to   Ishmael, 


130  THE    WHITE    TEOPHET 

■whereupon  the  Egyptian,  whose  face  had  taken  on  an  ex- 
treme pallor,  replied : 

"  Very  well.  I  have  warned  you  and  you  will  not  hear 
me.  But  I  tell  you  that  at  this  moment  Israfil  has  the 
trumpet  to  his  mouth,  and  is  only  waiting  for  God's  order 
to  blow  it !  I  tell  you,  too,  that  I  see  you — you — on  the  Day 
of  Judgment,  and  there  are  black  marks  on  your  face." 

"  Silence,  sir !  "  said  the  General,  bringing  his  clenched 
fist  heavily  down  on  the  desk.  Then  he  struck  the  bell  and 
in  a  choking  voice  called  first  for  his  servant  and  afterward 
for  his  aide-de-camp.  "  Robson !  See  this  man  out  of  the 
Citadel !  This  damnable,  presumptuous  braggart !  Robson ! 
Where  are  you  ? "  But  the  servant  did  not  appear  and  the 
aide-de-camp  did  not  answer. 

"  Xo  matter,"  said  the  Egyptian.  "  I  will  go  of  myself. 
I  will  try  to  forget  the  hard  words  you  have  said  of  me.  I 
will  not  retort  them  upon  you.  You  are  a  Christian,  and  it 
was  a  Christian  who  said,  *  Resist  not  evil.'  That  is  a  com- 
mandment as  binding  upon  us  as  upon  you.  God's  will  be 
done ! " 

With  that  Ishmael  went  out  as  he  had  entered,  slowly, 
solemnly,  with  head  bent  and  eyes  on  the  ground. 


XXVII 

The  General  was  now  utterly  exhausted.  Being  left  alone 
he  leaned  against  the  desk,  intending  to  wait  until  his 
breathing  had  become  more  regular  and  he  could  reach  the 
sofa.  Standing  there  he  heard  the  surging  noise  of  the 
crowd  that  had  been  waiting  outside  for  their  Arab  prophet, 
and  were  now  going  away  with  hiin.  He  wanted  to  call 
Helena,  but  restrained  himself,  remembering  how  often  she 
had  warned  liim. 

"  Robson !  "  he  called  again,  but  again  the  aide-de-camp 
did  not  answer — ^he  must  have  gone  off  on  some  errand  for 
Colonel  Macdonald. 

The  General   took  up  his  medicine  and  gulped  down   a 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  131 

large  dose,  drinking  from  the  neck  of  the  bottle,  and  then 
sank  on  to  the  sofa. 

Some  minutes  passed,  and  he  began  to  feel  better.  The 
sunset  was  deflected  into  his  face  from  the  alabaster  walls 
of  the  mosque  outside,  but  he  could  not  get  up  to  pull  down 
the  blind  of  his  window.  So  he  closed  his  eyes  and  thought 
of  what  had  happened. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  Gordon  had  been  to  blame  for 
everything.  But  for  Gordon's  monstrous  conduct  they  would 
have  been  spared  this  trouble — Lord  Xuneham's  crushing 
blow,  his  own  humiliating  action,  so  wickedly  forced  upon 
him,  and,  above  all,  Helena's  sorrow. 

In  the  delirium  of  his  anger  against  Gordon  he  felt  as 
if  he  would  choke.  Thinking  of  Helena  and  her  ruined  hap- 
piness, he  wondered  why  he  had  let  Gordon  off  so  lightly, 
and  he  wanted  to  follow  and  punish  him. 

Then  he  heard  the  door  open,  and,  thinking  Helena  was 
coming  into  the  room,  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  faced  around, 
when  before  him,  with  a  haggard  face,  stood  Gordon  himself. 


XXVIII 

When  Gordon  Lord,  after  parting  with  Helena,  had 
left  the  Citadel,  his  mental  anguish  had  been  so  intense  as  to 
deaden  all  his  faculties.  His  reason  was  clogged,  his  ideas 
were  obscure,  he  could  not  see  or  hear  properly.  Passing  the 
sentry  in  his  lodge  by  the  gate,  he  did  not  notice  the  man's 
bewildered  stare  or  acknowledge  his  abbreviated  salute.  The 
whole  event  of  the  last  hour  had  overwhelmed  him  as  with  a 
terrible  darkness,  and  in  this  darkness  he  plodded  on  until 
he  came  into  the  streets,  dense  with  people  and  clamorous 
with  all  the  noises  of  an  Eastern  city — the  clapping  of  water- 
carriers,  the  crying  of  lemonade-sellers,  the  braying  of  don- 
keys, and  the  ruckling  of  camels. 

"Where  am  I  going?"  he  asked  himself  at  one  moment, 
and  when  he  remembered  that  he  was  going  back  to  his 
quarters,  for  that  was  what  he  had  been  ordered  to  do,  that 


132  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

lie  Blight  be  under  arrest  and  in  due  course  tried  by  court- 
martial,  he  told  himself  that  he  had  been  tried  and  con- 
demned and  punished  already.  At  that  thought,  though 
clouded  and  obscure,  he  bit  his  lip  until  it  bled,  and  thought, 
"No,  I  cannot  go  back  to  quarters — I  will  not!" 

At  the  next  moment  a  certain  helplessness  came  over  him, 
and  up  from  the  deep  place  where  the  strongest  man  is  as 
a  child,  by  the  pathetic  instinct  that  keeps  the  boy  alive  in 
him  to  the  last  dark  day  of  his  life  and  in  the  hour  of  death, 
came  a  desire  to  go  home — to  his  mother.  But  when  he 
thought  of  his  mother's  pleading  voice  as  she  begged  him  to 
keep  peace  with  his  father,  and  then,  by  some  juggling  twist 
of  torturing  memory,  of  the  first  evening  after  his  return  to 
Egypt,  when  he  wore  his  medals  and  she  fingered  them  on 
his  breast  with  a  pride  that  no  queen  ever  had  in  the  jewels 
in  her  crown,  he  said  to  himself,  "  No,  I  can  never  go  home 
again." 

His  mind  was  oscillating  among  these  agonising  thoughts 
when  he  became  aware  that  he  was  walking  in  the  Esbekiah 
district,  the  European  quarter  of  Cairo,  where  the  ooze  of 
the  gutter  of  the  city  is  flung  up  under  the  public  eye ;  and 
there  under  the  open  piazza,  containing  a  line  of  drinking- 
places,  in  an  atmosphere  that  was  thick  with  tobacco  smoke, 
the  reek  of  alcohol,  the  babel  of  many  tongues,  the  striking 
of  matches,  and  the  popping  of  corks,  he  sat  down  at  a  table 
and  called  for  a  glass  of  brandy. 

The  brandy  seemed  to  clear  his  faculties  for  a  moment, 
and  his  aimless  and  wandering  thoughts  began  to  concen- 
trate themselves.  Then  the  scene  in  the  General's  office  came 
back  to  him — the  drawing  of  his  sword  from  its  scabbard, 
the  breaking  of  it  across  the  knee,  the  throwing  of  the 
wretched  fragments  at  his  feet,  the  ripping  away  of  his  med- 
als, and  the  trampling  of  them  underfoot.  The  hideous  mem- 
ory of  it  all,  so  illegal,  so  un-English,  made  his  blood  boil, 
and  when  his  beaten  brain  swung  back  to  the  scenes  in  which 
he  won  his  honours  at  the  risk  of  his  life — Omdurman, 
Ladysmith,  Pretoria — the  rank  injustice  he  had  suffered  al- 
most stifled  him  with  rage,  and  he  swore  and  struck  the 
table. 


THE  CRESCENT  AND  THE  CROSS       133 

All  his  anger  was  against  the  General,  not  against  his 
father,  of  whom  he  had  hardly  thought  at  all ;  but  the  cruel- 
lest agony  he  passed  through  came  at  the  moment  when  his 
wrath  rose  against  Helena.  As  he  thought  of  her  he  became 
dizzy;  his  brain  reeled  with  a  dance  of  ideas  in  which  no 
picture  lasted  longer  than  an  instant,  and  no  emotion  would 
stay.  At  one  moment  he  was  seeing  her  as  he  saw  her  first, 
with  her  big  eyes,  black  as  a  sloe,  the  joyous  smile  that  was 
one  of  her  greatest  chaiTQS,  the  arched  brow,  the  silken 
lashes,  the  gleam  of  celestial  fire,  the  "  Don't  go  yet "  that 
came  in  her  look,  and  then  the  quickening  pulse,  the  thrill 
that  passed  through  him,  and  the  mysterious  voice  that  whis- 
pered, "  It  is  She !  " 

Without  knowing  it  he  groaned  aloud  as  he  thought  of 
the  ruin  all  this  had  come  to;  and  at  the  next  moment  he 
was  in  the  midst  of  another  memorj- — a  memory  of  the 
future  as  he  had  imagined  it  would  be.  They  were  to  be 
married  soon,  and  then,  realising  one  of  the  dreams  of  his 
life,  they  were  to  visit  America,  for  his  mother's  blood  called 
to  him  to  go  there,  to  see  the  great  new  world — yes,  but  above 
all  to  stand,  with  Helena's  quivering  hand  in  his,  on  that 
rock  at  Plymouth  where  a  handful  of  fearless  men  and 
women  had  landed  on  a  bleak  and  hungry  coast,  afraid  of 
no  fate,  for  God  was  with  thenv  and  in  two  short  centuries 
had  peopled  a  vast  continent  and  created  one  of  the  might- 
iest empires  of  the  earth.  Remembering  this  as  a  vanished 
dream,  his  wretched  soul  was  on  the  edge  of  a  vortex  of  mad- 
ness, and  he  laughed  outright  with  a  laugh  that  shivered  the 
air  around  him. 

Then  he  was  conscious  that  somebody  was  speaking  to 
him.  It  was  a  young  girl  in  a  gaudy  silk  dress,  with  a  pasty 
face,  lips  painted  very  red,  eyebrows  darkened,  a  flower  in  her 
full  bosom,  which  was  covered  with  transparent  lace,  and  a 
little  satchel  swinging  on  her  wrist. 

"Overdoing  it  a  bit,  haven't  you,  dear?"  she  said  in 
French,  and  she  smiled  at  him,  a  poor  sidelong  smile,  out  of 
her  crushed  and  ciumpled  soul. 

At  the  same  moment  he  became  aware  that  three  men  at 
a  table  behind  him  were  winking  at  the  girl  and  joking  at 
10 


134  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

his  expense.  One  of  them,  a  little,  fat  American  Jew  with 
puflFy  cheeks,  chewing  the  end  of  a  cigar,  was  saying : 

"  Guess  a  man  don't  have  no  use  for  a  hat  in  a  climate 
like  this — sun  so  soft,  and  only  ninety-nine  in  the  shade." 

Whereupon  an  Englishman,  with  a  ripped  and  ragged 
mouth  and  a  miscellaneous  nose,  half  pug  and  half  Roman, 
answered : 

"  Been  hanging  himself  up  on  a  nail  by  the  breast  of  his 
coat,  too,  you  bet." 

Putting  his  hand  to  his  hair  and  looking  down  at  the 
torn  cloth  of  his  tunic,  Gordon  realised  for  the  first  time 
that  he  was  bareheaded,  having  left  his  helmet  at  the  Cita- 
del, and  that  to  the  unclean  consciousness  of  the  people  about 
him  he  was  drunk. 

At  that  moment  he  started  up  suddenly,  and  coming  into 
collision  with  the  American,  who  was  swinging  on  the  back 
legs  of  his  chair,  he  sent  him  sprawling  on  the  ground,  where 
he  yelled : 

"  Here,  I  say,  you  blazing " 

But  the  third  man  at  the  table,  a  dragoman  in  a  fez, 
whispered : 

"  Hush !  I  know  that  gentlemans.  Leave  him  alone,  sirs, 
please.     Let  him  go." 

W^ith  heart  and  soul  aflame,  Gordon  walked  away,  in- 
tending to  take  the  first  cab  that  came  along  and  then  for- 
getting to  do  so.  One  wild  thought  now  took  possession  of 
him  and  expelled  all  other  thoughts.  He  must  go  back  to 
the  Citadel  and  accuse  the  General  of  his  gross  injustice. 
He  must  say  what  he  meant  to  say  when  he  stood  by  the  door 
as  he  was  going  out.  The  General  should  hear  it — he  should, 
and,  by ,  he  must! 

The  brandy  was  working  in  his  brain  by  this  time,  and 
in  the  blind  leading  of  passion  everj'thing  that  happened  on 
the  way  seemed  to  fortify  his  resolve.  The  streets  of  the 
native  city  were  now  surging  with  people,  as  a  submerged 
mine  surges  with  the  water  that  runs  through  it.  He  knew 
where  they  were  going — they  were  going  to  El  Azhar — 
and  when  he  came  near  to  the  great  mosque  he  had  to  fight 
his  way  through  a  crowd  that  was  coming  from  the  opposite 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  135 

direction,  with  the  turbaned  head  of  a  very  tall  man  in  the 
midst  of  the  multitude,  who  were  chanting  verses  from  the 
Koran  and  crying  in  chorus,  "  La  ilaha  illa-llah !  " 

At  sight  of  this  procession,  knowing  what  it  meant,  that 
the  Moslems  were  going  to  the  doomed  place  to  defend  it 
or  die,  a  thousand  confused  forms  danced  before  Gordon's 
eyes.  His  impatience  to  reach  the  Citadel  became  feverish 
and  he  began  to  run,  but  again  he  was  kept  back.  This 
time  it  was  a  troop  of  cavalry,  who  were  trotting  hard 
toward  El  Azhar.  He  saw  his  deputy,  Macdonald,  with  his 
blotchy  face  and  his  monocle,  but  he  was  himself  seen  by 
no  one,  and  in  the  crush  he  was  almost  ridden  down. 

The  Citadel,  when  he  reached  it,  seemed  to  be  deserted, 
even  the  sentry  standing  with  his  back  to  him  in  the  sentry- 
box  as  he  hurried  through.  There  was  nobody  in  the  square 
of  the  mosque  or  yet  at  the  gate  to  the  General's  garden, 
which  was  open,  and  the  door  of  the  house,  when  he  came 
to  it,  was  open,  too.  With  the  hot  blood  in  his  head,  his 
teeth  compressed  and  his  nostrils  quivering,  he  burst  into  the 
General's  office  and  came  face  to  face  with  the  old  soldier  as 
he  was  rising  from  the  sofa.  Thus  in  the  blind  swirl  of 
circumstance  the  two  men  met  at  the  moment  when  the 
heart  of  each  was  full  of  hatred  for  the  other. 

They  were  brave  men  both  of  them,  and  never  for  one  in- 
stant had  either  of  them  known  what  it  was  to  feel  afraid. 
They  were  not  afraid  now,  but  they  had  loved  each  other 
once,  and  up  from  what  deep  place  in  their  souls  God  alone 
can  say  there  came  a  wave  of  feeling  that  fought  with  their 
hate.  The  General  no  longer  wanted  to  punish  Gordon,  but 
only  that  Gordon  should  go  away,  while  Gordon's  rage,  which 
was  to  have  thundered  at  the  General,  broke  into  an  agonis- 
ing cry. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  Didn't  I  order  you  to  your 
quarters  ?  Do  you  wish  me  to  put  you  under  close  arrest  ? 
Get  off!" 

"  Xot  yet.  You  and  I  have  to  settle  accounts  first.  You 
have  behaved  like  a  tyrant.  A  tyrant — that's  the  only  word 
for  it !  HI  was  guilty  of  insubordination,  you  were  guilty 
of  outrage.    You  had  a  right  to  arrest  me  and  to  order  that 


136  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

I  should  be  court-martialled.  But  what  right  had  you  to 
condemn  me  before  1  was  tried,  and  punish  me  before  I  was 
sentenced?  Before  or  after,  what  right  had  you  to  break  my 
sword  and  tear  off  my  medals  ?  Degradation  is  obsolete  in 
the  British  Army.  What  right  had  you  to  degrade  me?  Be- 
fore my  father,  too,  and  before  Helena !  What  right  had 
jou?" 

"  Leave  my  house  instantly !  Leave  it !  Leave  it !  "  said 
the  General,  his  voice  coming  thick  and  hoarse. 

"  Xot  till  you  hear  what  I've  come  to  tell  you,"  said  Gor- 
don, and  then — who  knows  on  what  inherited  cell  of  his  brain 
imprinted? — he  repeated  the  threat  his  father  had  made 
forty  years  before: 

"  I've  come  to  tell  you  that  I'll  go  back  to  my  quarters 
and  you  shall  court-martial  me  to-morrow  if  you  dare.  Be- 
fore that  England  may  know,  by  what  is  done  to-night,  that 
I  refused  to  obey  your  order  because  I'm  a  soldier — not  a 
murderer.  But  if  she  never  knows,"  he  cried,  in  his  broken 
voice,  "  and  you  try  me  and  condemn  me  and  degrade  me 
even  to  the  ranks,  I'll  get  up  again — do  you  hear  me  ? — I'll 
get  up  again  and  win  back  all  I've  lost  and  more — until  I'm 
your  own  master  and  you'll  have  to  obey  me  / " 

The  General's  face  became  scarlet,  and,  lifting  his  hand 
as  if  to  strike  Gordon,  he  cried,  in  a  choking  voice : 

"  Go,  before  I  do  something  ..." 

But  Gordon,  in  the  delirium  of  his  rage,  heard  nothing 
except  the  sound  of  his  own  quivering  voice. 

"  More  than  that,"  he  said,  "  I'll  win  back  Helena.  She 
was  mine,  and  you  have  separated  her  from  me,  and  broken 
her  heart  as  well  as  my  own.  Was  that  the  act  of  a  father, 
or  of  a  robber  and  a  tyrant  ?  But  she  will  come  back  to  me, 
and  when  you  are  dead  and  in  your  grave  we  shall  be  to- 
g-ether,  because  .  .  .  Stop  that!     Stop  it,  I  say!" 

The  General,  unable  to  command  himself  any  longer,  had 
snatched  up  the  broken  sword  from  the  floor,  and  was  mak- 
ing for  Gordon  as  if  to  smite  him. 

"  Stand  away!  You  are  an  old  man  and  I  am  not  a  cow- 
ard.   Drop  that,  or,  by  God,  you " 

But  the  General,  losing  himself  utterly,  flung  himself  on 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  137 

Gordon  with  the  broken  sword,  his  voice  gone  in  a  husky 
growl  and  his  breath  coming  in  hoarse  gusts. 

The  struggle  was  short  but  terrible.  Gordon,  in  the 
strength  of  his  young  manhood,  first  laid  hold  of  the  Gen- 
eral by  the  upper  part  of  the  breast  to  keep  him  off,  and  then, 
feeling  that  his  hand  was  wounded,  he  gripped  at  the  old 
man's  throat  with  fingers  that  clung  like  claws.  At  the  next 
moment  he  snatched  the  sword  from  the  General,  and  at  the 
same  instant,  with  a  delirious  laugh,  he  flung  the  man  him- 
self away. 

The  General  fell  heavily  with  a  deep  groan  and  a  gurgling 
cry.  Gordon,  with  a  contemptuous  gesture,  threw  the  broken 
sword  on  to  the  floor,  and  then,  with  the  growl  of  a  wild 
creature,  he  turned  to  go. 

"  Fight  me — would  you,  eh  ?  Kill  me,  perhaps !  We've 
settled  accounts  at  last — haven't  we  ?  " 

But  hearing  no  answer  he  turned  at  the  door  to  look  back 
and  saw  the  General  lying  where  he  had  fallen,  outstretched 
and  still.  At  that  sight  the  breath  seemed  to  go  out  of  his 
body  at  one  gasp.  His  head  turned  giddy,  and  the  red  gleams 
of  the  sunset,  which  were  deflected  into  the  room,  appeared 
to  his  half-blind  eyes  to  cover  everything  with  blood. 


XXIX 

Gordon  stood  with  his  mouth  open,  the  brute  sense  struck 
out  of  him  by  the  dead  silence.  Then  he  said,  "  Get  up ! 
Why  don't  you  get  up  ?  "  hardly  knowing  what  he  was  saying. 

He  got  no  answer,  and  a  horrible  idea  began  to  take  shape 
in  his  mind.  Though  so  hot  a  moment  ago,  he  shivered  and 
his  teeth  began  to  chatter.  He  looked  around  him  for  a 
moment  in  the  dazed  way  of  a  man  awakening  from  a  night- 
mare, and  then  stepped  up  on  tiptoe  to  where  the  General  lay. 

Raising  his  head,  he  looked  at  him  and  found  it  hard  to 
believe  that  what  he  vaguely  feared  had  happened.  There 
was  no  sign  of  injury  anywhere.  The  eyes  were  open,  and 
they  looked  fixedly  at  him  with  so  fierce  a  stare  that  they 
seemed  to  jump  out  of  their  sockets. 


138  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Stunned — that's  all — stunned  by  the  fall,"'  he  thought, 
and,  seeing  a  bottle  of  brandy  on  the  shelf  of  the  desk,  he 
got  up  and  poured  a  little  into  the  medicine  glass,  and  then, 
tneeling  and  lifting  the  General's  head  again,  he  forced  the 
liquor  through  the  tightly  compressed  lips. 

It  ran  out  as  it  went  in,  and  then,  with  gathering  fear 
and  fumbling  fingers,  Gordon  unbuttoned  the  General's 
frock-coat  and  laid  a  trembling  hand  over  his  heart.  At  one 
moment  he  thought  he  felt  a  beat,  but  at  the  next  he  knew 
it  was  only  the  throb  of  his  own  pulse. 

At  that  the  world  seemed  for  a  moment  to  be  blotted  out, 
and  when  he  came  to  himself  again  he  was  holding  the  Gen- 
eral in  his  arms  and  calling  to  him. 

"General!  General!  Speak  to  me!  For  God's  sake, 
speak  to  me !  " 

In  the  torrent  of  his  remorse  he  was  kissing  the  Gen- 
eral's forehead  and  crj-ing  over  his  face,  but  there  was  no 
response. 

Then  a  great  trembling  shook  his  whole  body,  and  drop- 
ping the  head  gently  back  to  the  floor  he  rose  to  his  feet. 
The  General  was  dead,  and  he  knew  it. 

He  had  seen  death  a  hundred  times  before,  but  only  on 
the  battle-field,  amid  the  boom  of  cannon,  the  wail  of  shell, 
the  snap  of  rifles,  and  the  oaths  of  men,  but  now  it  filled  him 
with  terror. 

The  silence  was  awful.  A  minute  ago  the  General  had 
been  a  living  man,  face  to  face  with  him,  and  the  room 
had  been  ringing  with  the  clashing  of  their  voices;  but  now 
this  breathless  hush,  this  paralysing  stillness,  in  which  the 
very  air  seemed  to  be  dead,  for  something  was  gone  as  by 
the  stroke  of  an  almighty  hand,  and  there  was  nothing  left 
but  the  motionless  figure  at  his  feet. 

"  What  have  I  done  ? "  he  asked,  and  when  he  told  him- 
self that  in  his  headstrong  wrath  he  had  killed  a  man,  his 
head  spun  round  and  round.  He  who  had  refused  to  obey 
orders  because  he  would  not  commit  murder  was  guilty  of 
murder  himself !  What  devil  out  of  hell  had  ordered  things 
so  that,  as  the  very  consequence  of  refusing  to  commit  a 
crime,  he  had  become  a  criminal? 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  139 

"God  have  pity  upon  me  and  tell  me  it  is  not  true,"  he 
thought. 

But  he  knew  it  was  true,  and  when  he  told  himself  that 
the  man  he  had  killed  was  his  General,  his  pain  increased 
tenfold.  The  General  had  loved  him  and  favoured  him,  been 
proud  of  him  and  upheld  him,  and  never,  down  to  the  com- 
ing of  this  trouble,  had  their  friendship  been  darkened  by  a 
cloud. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me !    God  forgive  me !  "  he  thought. 

In  his  blind  misery,  which  hardly  saw  itself  yet  for  what 
it  was,  the  impulse  came  to  him  to  carry  the  burden  of  his 
sin,  too  heav:^'  for  himself,  to  Helena,  that  she  might  help 
him  to  bear  it ;  and  he  had  taken  some  steps  toward  the  door 
leading  to  her  room  when  it  struck  him  as  a  blow  on  the 
brain  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  dead  man,  and  he 
M'as  going  to  her  for  comfort  after  killing  her  father. 

At  that  thought  he  stopped  and  laid  hold  of  the  desk  for 
support,  being  so  weak  that  he  could  scarcely  keep  on  his 
legs.  He  remembered  Helena's  love  for  the  General,  how 
much  of  her  young  life  she  had  given  to  him,  and  how  the 
quarrel  that  had  divided  himself  from  her  had  come  of  her 
determination  not  to  leave  her  father  as  long  as  he  lived. 
And  now  he  had  killed  him — he!  he!  he! 

Beads  of  sweat  started  from  his  forehead,  but  after  a 
moment  he  told  himself  that,  if  he  could  not  expect  comfort 
from  Helena,  it  was  his  duty  to  comfort  her — to  break  the 
news  to  her.  He  saw  himself  doing  so.  "  Helena,  listen, 
dear;  be  brave."  "What  is  it?"  "Your  father — is — is 
dead."  "  Dead  ?  "  "  "Worse — a  thousandfold  worse — he  is 
murdered."  "  Murdered  ?  "  "  It  was  all  in  the  heat  of  blood 
— the  man  didn't  know  what  he  was  doing."  "  Who  was  it  ? 
Who  was  it  ?  "    "  Don't  you  see,  Helena  ?    It  was  I." 

He  had  tiirned  again  to  the  door  leading  to  Helena's 
room  when  another  blow  from  an  invisible  hand  seemed  to 
fall  upon  him.  He  saw  Helena's  eyes  fixed  on  his  face  in  the 
intensity  of  her  hate,  and  he  heard  her  voice  driving  him 
away.  "Go;  let  me  never  see  you  again."  That  was  more 
than  he  could  bear,  and  staggering  to  the  sofa  he  sat  down. 

Some  minutes  passed.     The  red  glow  in  the  room  deep- 


140  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

ened  to  a  dull  brown,  and  at  one  moment  there  was  a  groan 
in  the  gathering  gloom.  He  heard  it  and  looked  up,  but 
there  was  nobody  there,  and  then  he  realised  that  it  was  he 
who  had  groaned.  At  another  moment  his  mind  occupied 
itself  with  lesser  things.  He  saw  that  one  finger  of  his  left 
hand  was  badly  wounded,  and  he  bound  it  up  in  his  hand- 
kerchief. Then  he  looked  at  himself  in  a  mirror  that  hung 
on  the  wall  in  front  of  the  sofa,  but  he  could  not  see  his  face 
distinctly — eyes,  nose,  and  mouth  being  blurred.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  escape.  Never  for  an  instant  did  it  occur  to  him 
to  run  away. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  black  pyramids  across  the 
Nile,  and  after  a  while  the  dead  silence  of  the  evening  of  the 
Eastern  day  was  broken  by  the  multitudinous  cries  of  the 
muezzin,  which  came  up  from  the  city  below  like  a  deep 
ground  swell  on  a  rugged  coast. 

After  that  Gordon  knelt  again  by  the  General's  body, 
trj-ing  to  believe  he  was  not  dead.  The  eyes  were  still  open, 
but  all  the  light  was  gone  out  of  them,  and  seeing  their 
stony  stare  the  thought  came  to  him  that  the  General's  soul 
was  with  him  in  the  room.  The  stupor  of  his  senses  had 
suddcnlj^  given  way  to  a  supernatural  acuteness,  and  at  one 
moment  he  imagined  he  felt  the  touch  of  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

At  the  next  instant  he  was  plainly  conscious  of  a  door 
opening  and  closing  in  the  inner  part  of  the  house,  and  of 
light  and  rapid  footsteps  approaching.  He  knew  what  had 
occurred — Helena  had  been  out  on  the  terrace  or  in  the 
parade  ground  and  had  just  come  back. 

She  was  now  in  the  next  room,  breathing  hard  as  if  she 
had  been  running.  He  could  hear  the  rustling  of  her  skirt 
and  her  soft  step  as  she  walked  toward  the  door  of  the 
General's  office. 

At  the  next  moment  there  came  a  knock,  but  Gordon  held 
his  breath  and  made  no  answer. 

Then  "Father!  "  in  a  tremulous  voice,  full  of  fear,  as  if 
Helena  knew  what  had  happened. 

Still  Gordon  made  no  reply,  and  the  frightened  voice 
came  again. 


THE    CRESCENT    AND    THE    CROSS  141 

"  Are  you  alone  now  ?    May  I  come  in  ?  " 

Then  Gordon  felt  an  impulse  to  throw  the  door  open  and 
confess  everything,  saying:  "I  did  it,  Helena,  but  I  didn't 
intend  to  do  it.  He  threw  himself  upon  me,  and  I  flung  him 
off  and  he  fell,  and  that  is  the  truth,  as  God  is  my  witness." 

But  he  could  not  do  this,  because  he  was  afraid.  He  who 
had  never  before  known  fear,  he  who  had  stood  in  the  firing 
line  when  hordes  of  savage  men  had  galloped  down  with 
fanatical  cries — he  was  trembling  now  at  the  thought  of 
meeting  a  woman's  face. 

So,  treading  softly,  he  stole  out  of  the  room  by  the  outer 
door,  the  door  leading  to  the  gate,  and  as  he  closed  it  behind 
him  he  felt  that  the  door  of  hope,  also,  was  now  for  ever 
closed  between  Helena  and  him. 

But  going  through  the  garden  he  had  to  pass  the  arbour, 
and  at  sight  of  that  a  wave  of  tender  memories  swept  over 
him,  and  in  pity  of  Helena's  position  he  wanted  to  return. 
She  would  be  in  her  father's  room  by  this  time,  standing 
over  his  dead  body,  and  alone  in  her  great  grief. 

"  I  will  go  back,"  he  thought.  "  She  has  no  one  else.  She 
may  curse  me,  but  I  cannot  leave  her  alone.  I  will  go  back 
—I  will— I  must !  " 

That  was  what  his  soul  was  saying  to  itself,  but  at  the 
same  time  his  body  was  carrying  him  away — through  the 
open  gate  and  across  the  deserted  square,  swiftly,  stealthily, 
like  a  criminal  leaving  the  scene  of  his  crime. 

The  day  was  now  gone,  the  twilight  was  deep,  and  as  he 
passed  under  the  outer  port  of  the  Citadel  in  the  dead  silence 
of  the  unquickened  air,  a  voice  like  that  of  an  accusing 
angel,  telling  of  judgment  to  come,  fell  upon  his  ear.  It  was 
the  voice  of  the  last  of  the  muezzin  on  the  minaret  of  the 
Mohammedan  mosque  calling  to  evening  prayer: 

"  God  is  Most  Great !     God  is  Most  Great !  " 


AL-LA-T  -BAR.  AL-LA    -     -     HU  AK-BAR. 

11 


and   f 


SECOND   BOOK 
THE   SHADOW   OF  THE   SWORD 


When  Helena  had  left  the  General  and  Ishmacl  Ameer 
together,  the  signs  she  knew  so  well  of  illness  in  her  fathers 
face  suggested  that  she  should  run  at  once  for  the  medical 
officer.  One  moment  she  stood  in  the  room  adjoining  the 
General's  office,  listening  to  the  muffled  rumble  that  came 
from  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  the  short  snap  of  her 
father's  impatient  voice  and  the  deep  boom  of  the  Egyp' 
tian's,  and  then  she  hurried  into  the  outer  passage  to  pii> 
on  her  hat.  There  she  met  the  General's  aide-de-camp  who, 
seeing  her  excitement,  asked  if  there  was  anything  he  could 
do  for  her,  but  she  answered  "  No,"  and  then, 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  might  go  over  to  the  Colonel  "  (mean- 
ing the  Colonel  commanding  the  Citadel)  "  and  tell  him 
this  man  is  here  with  a  crowd  of  his  followers." 

"  He  must  know  it  already,  but  I'll  go  with  pleasure," 
said  the  young  Lieutenant;  at  the  next  moment  there  were 
three  hasty  beats  on  the  General's  bell  followed  by  a  sum- 
mons from  the  General's  servant,  but  the  aide-de-camp  had 
disappeared. 

Helena  went  out  by  the  back  of  the  house,  and  seeing 
her  cook  and  the  black  boy  as  she  passed  the  kitchen  quar- 
ters, an  impulse  came  to  her  to  send  somebody  else  on  her 
errand,  lest  anything  should  happen  in  her  absence;  but 
telling  herself  that  nobody  but  herself  and  the  doctor  must 
know  the  secret  of  her  father's  condition,  she  hurried  along. 

Her  way  was  through  the  unoccupied  courts  of  the  old 
palace,  down  a  flight  of  long  steps,  through  an  old  gateway 
whereof  the  iron-clamped  door  always  stood  open,  across  a 
disused  drawbridge,  and  so  on  to  the  open  parade  ground. 
The  Army  Surgeon's  quarters  were  on  the  farther  side  of 
it  and  never  before  had  it  seemed  so  broad. 

When  she  reached  her  destination  the  Surgeon  was  out 
on  his  evening  round  of  the  hospital,  so  she  wrote  a  hur- 

145 


146  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

ried  note  asking  him  to  come  to  the  General's  house  imme- 
diately, sent  his  assistant  in  search  of  him,  and  then  turned 
back. 

Eeturniug  hurriedly  by  the  "  married  quarters,"  she  was 
detained  for  some  moments  by  a  soldier's  wife,  a  young 
thing,  almost  a  child,  who  stood  at  the  door  of  her  house 
with  a  red  woollen  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  a  baby  in 
long  clothes  in  her  arms,  and  a  look  of  radiant  happiness 
in  her  round  face. 

"YeVe  not  seen  'im  yet,  have  ye,  Miss?"  said  the  little 
mother,  and  then,  holding  out  her  baby  to  be  admired,  "  Only 
six  weeks  old  and  'e  weighs  ten  pounds.  Colonel  says  as 
'ow  e's  a  credit  to  the  r^'ment  and  I'm  agoin'  to  shorten 
'im  soon.  To-morrow  I'm  'avin'  'im  photoed  to  send  to 
mother.  She  lives  in  Clerkenwell,  Miss,  and  she  ain't  likely 
to  show  'is  photo  to  nobody  in  our  court.    Oh,  no !  " 

Helena  did  her  best  to  play  up  to  the  pride  of  the  little 
Cockney  mother,  and  was  turning  to  go  when  the  girl  said : 
"But  my  Harry  tells  me  as  'ow  you're  to  be  married 
yourself  soon,  so  I  wish  ye  joy,  and  many  of  'em." 

"  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Dimmock,"  said  Helena,  but  the  young 
thing  was  not  done  yet.  With  a  look  of  wondrous  wisdom 
she  said : 

"  They're  a  deal  of  trouble,  Miss,  but  there  ain't  no  love 
in  the  house  without  'cm.  As  mother  says,  they  keeps  the 
pot  a-boilin',"  and  she  was  ducking  down  her  head  to  kiss 
the  child  as  Helena  hurried  away. 

In  the  bright  light  of  the  young  mother's  life  and  the 
breadth  of  shadow  that  lay  upon  her  own,  Helena  thought 
of  Gordon  and  her  anger  rose  against  him  again;  but  at 
the  next  moment  she  saw  him  in  her  mind's  eye  as  she  had 
seen  him  last,  going  out  of  the  garden,  a  broken,  bankrupt 
man,  and  then  her  eyes  filled  and  it  was  as  much  as  she 
could  do  to  see  her  way. 

In  the  quickening  flow  of  her  emotion  this  riot  in  her 
heart  between  anger  with  Gordon  and  with  herself  only  led 
to  deeper  hatred  of  the  Egyptian,  and  even  the  memory 
of  his  dignity  and  largeness  in  the  single  moment  in  which 
she  had  looked' upon  him  made  her  wrath  the  more  intense. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  147 

A  vague  fear,  an  indefinite  forewarning,  hardly  able  yet 
to  assume  a  shape,  was  beginning  to  take  possession  of  her. 
She  recalled  the  scene  she  had  left  behind  her  in  the  Gen- 
eral's office,  the  two  men  face  to  face,  as  if  in  the  act  of 
personal  quarrel,  and  told  herself  that  if  anything  happened 
to  her  father  as  the  result  of  the  excitement  caused  by  the 
meeting,  the  Egyptian  would  be  the  cause  of  it. 

In  her  impatience  to  be  back  she  began  to  run.  IIow 
broad  the  parade  ground  was !  The  air,  too,  was  so  close 
and  lifeless.  The  sun  had  nearly  set,  the  arms  of  night 
were  closing  round  the  day,  but  still  the  sky  was  a  hot 
dark  red  like  the  inside  of  a  transparent  shell  that  had  a 
smouldering  fire  outside  of  it. 

At  one  moment  she  heard  harsh  and  jarring  voices  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  square  of  the  mosque  in  front  of 
the  house.  Perhaps  the  Egyptian  and  his  people  were  going 
off  with  their  usual  monotonous  chanting  of  "Allah!" 
"  Allah!  "  She  was  glad  to  reach  the  cool  shade  and  silence 
of  the  empty  courts  of  the  old  palace,  but  coming  to  the  gate- 
way she  found  it  closed. 

A  footstep  was  dying  away  within,  so  she  knocked  and 
called,  and  after  a  moment  an  old  soldier,  a  kind  of  care- 
taker of  the  Citadel,  opened  the  gate  to  her. 

"  Beg  pardon.  Miss !  Lieutenant  Robson  told  me  to  shut 
up  everything  immediately,"  he  said,  but  Helena  did  not 
wait  for  further  explanation. 

There  was  nobody  in  sight  when  she  passed  the  kitchen 
quarters,  and  when  she  entered  the  house  a  chill  silence 
seemed  to  strike  to  the  very  centre  of  her  life. 

Then  followed  one  of  those  mystic  impulses  of  the 
human  heart  which  nobody  can  understand.  In  her  creep- 
ing fear  of  what  might  have  happened  during  her  absence 
she  was  at  first  afraid  to  go  into  her  father's  room.  If  she 
had  done  so,  there  and  then,  and  without  an  instant's  hesi- 
tation, she  must  have  found  Gordon  kneeling  over  her 
father's  body.  But  in  dread  of  learning  the  truth  she  tried 
to  keep  back  the  moment  of  certainty,  and  in  a  blind  agony 
of  doubt  she  stood  still  and  tried  to  think. 

The    voices    of    the   men    were   no  longer    to    be   heard 


148  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

through  the  wall  and  the  deep  rumble  of  the  crowd  outside 
had  died  away,  therefore  the  Egyptian  must  have  gone. 
Had  her  father  gone,  too?  She  remembered  that  he  was  in 
uniform  and  took  a  step  back  into  the  hall  to  see  if  his  cap 
hung  on  the  hat-rail.  The  cap  was  there.  Had  he  gone 
into  his  bedroom?  She  crossed  to  the  door.  The  door  was 
open  and  the  room  was  empty. 

Hardly  able  to  analyse  her  unlinked  ideas,  but  with  a 
gathering  dread  of  the  unknown,  she  found  herself  stepping 
on  tiptoe  toward  the  General's  office.  Then  she  thought 
she  heard  a  faint  cry  within,  a  feeble,  interrupted  moan, 
and  in  an  unsteady  voice  she  called. 

There  was  no  answer.  She  called  again,  and  still  there 
was  no  reply.  Then  girding  up  her  heart  to  conquer  her 
vague  fear,  which  hardly  knew  itself  yet  for  what  it  was, 
she  opened  the  door. 

The  room  was  almost  dark.  She  took  one  step  into  the 
gloom,  breathing  rapid  breath,  then  stopped  and  said: 

"  Father !     Are  you  here,  Father  ?  " 

There  was  no  sound,  so  she  took  another  step  into  the 
room,  thinking  to  switch  on  the  light  over  the  desk  and  at 
the  same  time  to  reach  the  sofa.  As  she  did  so  she 
stumbled  against  something,  and  her  breath  was  struck  out 
of  her  in  an  instant. 

She  stooped  in  the  darkness  to  see  what  it  was  that  lay 
at  her  feet,  and  at  the  next  moment  she  needed  no  light 
to  tell  her. 

"Father!  Father!"  she  cried,  and  in  the  dead  silence 
that  followed  the  voice  of  the  muezzin  came  from  with- 
out. 

She  was  lying  prostrate  over  her  father's  body  when  the 
door  was  burst  open  as  by  a  gust  of  wind  and  the  Army 
Surgeon  came  into  the  room.  Without  a  word  he  knelt  and 
laid  his  hand  over  the  heart  of  the  fallen  man,  while  Helena, 
who  rose  at  the  same  instant,  watched  him  in  the  awful 
thraldom  of  fear. 

Then  young  Lieutenant  Robson  came  in  hurriedly, 
switching  on  the  light  and  saying  something,  but  the  Sur- 
geon silenced  him  with  the  lifting  of  his  left  hand.     There 


THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   SWORD  149 

was  one  of  those  blank  moments  in  which  time  itself  seems 
to  stand  still,  while  the  Surgeon  was  on  his  knees  and 
Helena  stood  aside  with  whitening  lips  and  with  eyes  that 
had  a  wild  stare  in  them.  Then,  lifting  his  face  that  was 
stamped  with  the  heaviness  of  horror,  and  told  before  he 
spoke  what  he  was  going  to  say,  the  Surgeon  rose  and, 
turning  to  Helena,  said  in  a  nervous  voice : 

"  I  regret,  I  deeply  regret  to  tell  you " 

"Gone?"  asked  Helena,  and  the  Surgeon  bowed  his 
head. 

She  did  not  cry  or  utter  a  sound.  Only  the  trembling 
of  her  white  lips  showed  what  she  felt,  but  all  the  cheer  of 
life  had  died  out  of  her  face,  and  in  a  moment  it  had 
become  hard  and  stony. 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence  and  then  the  Surgeon 
and  the  young  Lieutenant,  casting  sidelong  looks  at  Helena, 
began  to  whisper  together.  At  sight  of  her  tearless  eyes 
a  certain  fear  had  fallen  on  them  which  the  presence  of 
death  could  not  create. 

"  Take  her  away,"  whispered  the  Surgeon,  and  then  the 
Lieutenant,  whose  throat  was  hard  and  whose  eyes  were  dim, 
approached  her  and  said  with  the  sadness  of  sympathy: 

"  May  I  help  you  to  your  room,  please  ? " 

Helena  shook  her  head  and  stood  immovable  a  moment 
longer,  and  then  with  a  firm  step  she  walked  away. 


II 

All  the  moral  cowardice  that  had  paralysed  Gordon 
Lord  was  gone  the  moment  he  left  the  Citadel,  and  as  soon 
as  he  reached  the  streets  of  the  city  the  power  of  life  came 
back  to  him.  There  in  tumultuous  swarms  the  native  peo- 
ple were  swinging  along  in  one  direction,  uttering  the 
monotonous  cries  of  the  Moslems  when  they  are  deeply 
moved.  Into  this  maelstrom  of  emotion  Gordon  was  swept 
before  he  knew  it,  and  hardly  conscious  of  where  he  was 
going,  he  followed  where  he  was  led. 


150  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

He  felt — without  knowiiig  why — the  lust  of  violence  which 
comes  to  the  soldier  in  battle  who  wants  to  run  away  until 
the  moment  when  the  first  shot  has  been  fired,  and  then — 
all  fear  and  moral  conscience  gone  in  an  instant — forges 
his  path  with  shouts  and  oaths  to  where  danger  is  greatest 
and  death  most  sure. 

In  the  thickening  darkness  he  saw  a  great  glow  coming 
from  a  spot  in  front  of  him,  as  of  many  lanterns  and  torches 
burning  together.  Toward  this  spot  he  pushed  his  way, 
calling  to  the  people  in  their  own  tongue  to  let  him  pass  or 
sweeping  them  aside  and  ploughing  through.  In  his  deli- 
rious excitement  his  strength  seemed  to  be  supernatural 
and  men  were  flung  away  as  if  they  had  been  children. 

At  length  he  reached  a  place  where  a  narrow  lane,  open- 
ing on  to  a  square,  was  blocked  by  a  line  of  soldiers,  who 
were  coming  and  going  with  the  glare  of  the  torchlight  on 
their  faces.  Here  the  monotonous  noises  of  the  crowd 
behind  him  were  pierced  by  sharp  cries,  mingled  with 
screams.  Perspiration  was  pouring  down  Gordon's  neck  by 
this  time  and  he  stopped  to  see  where  he  was.  He  was  at 
the  big  gate  of  El  Azhar. 

On  leaving  the  Citadel,  Colonel  Macdonald  had  taken 
two  sqtiadrons  with  him,  telling  the  Lieutenant-Colonel  com- 
manding the  regiment  to  follow  with  the  rest. 

"  Half  of  these  will  be  enough  for  this  job  and  we'll 
clear  the  rascals  out  like  rats,"  he  said. 

The  Governor  of  the  city,  a  small  man  in  European 
dress,  acting  on  the  order  of  the  Minister  of  the  Interior 
as  Regent  in  the  absence  of  the  lOiedivc,  had  met  him  at  the 
University.  They  found  the  gate  shut  and  barred  against 
them,  and  when  the  Governor  called  for  it  to  be  opened 
there  was  no  reply.     Then  the  Colonel  said : 

"  Omar  Bey,  have  I  your  permission  to  force  an 
entrance  ? " 

Whereupon  the  Governor,  in  whom  the  wine  of  life  was 
chiefly  vinegar,  answered  promptly: 

"  Colonel,  I  request  you  to  do  so." 

A  few  minutes  afterward  a  stout  wooden  beam  was 
brought  up  from  somewhere  and  six  or  eight  of  the  soldiers 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  151 

laid  hold  of  it  and  began  to  use  it  on  the  closed  gate  as  a 
battering  ram.  The  gate  was  a  strong  one,  clamped  with 
iron,  but  it  was  being  crunched  by  the  blows  that  fell  on 
it  when  some  of  the  students  within  clambered  on  to  the 
top  of  the  walls  and  hurled  down  stones  on  the  heads  of  the 
soldiers. 

One  of  them  was  a  young  boy  of  not  more  than  fourteen 
years,  and  while  others  protected  themselves  by  hiding 
behind  the  coping  stones,  he  exposed  his  whole  body  to  the 
troops  by  standing  on  the  very  crest  of  the  parapet.  The 
windows  of  the  houses  around  were  full  of  faces  and  from 
one  that  was  nearly  opposite  to  the  gate  came  the  shrill 
cry  of  a  woman,  calling  to  the  boy  to  go  back.  But  in  the 
clamour  of  the  noises  he  heard  nothing  or  in  the  fire  of  his 
spirit  he  did  not  heed,  for  he  continued  to  hurl  down  every- 
thing that  came  to  his  hand,  until  Colonel  Macdonald  com- 
manded the  troops  to  dismount  with  rifles,  and  said: 

"  Stop  that  young  devil  up  there  !  " 

At  the  next  moment  there  was  the  crack  of  a  dozen  rifles, 
and  then  the  boy  on  the  parapet  swayed  aside,  lurched  for- 
ward, and  fell  into  the  street.  The  Colonel  was  giving 
orders  that  he  should  be  taken  up  and  carried  away  when 
the  woman's  cry  was  heard  again,  this  time  in  a  frenzied 
shriek,  and  at  the  next  instant  the  soldiers  had  to  make 
way  for  the  mightiest  thing*  on  earth,  an  outraged  mother 
in  the  presence  of  her  dead. 

The  woman,  who  had  torn  the  black  veil  from  her  face, 
lifted  the  boy's  head  on  to  her  breast  and  cried :  "  My  God ! 
My  good  God !  My  boy !  Ali !  AH  !  "  But  just  then  the 
gate  gave  way  with  a  crash  and  the  Colonel  ordered  one  of 
the  squadrons  to  ride  into  the  courtyard  of  the  mosque, 
where  five  thousand  of  the  students  and  their  professors 
could  be  seen  squinning  in  dense  masses  like  ants  on  an 
upturned  ant-hill. 

The  soldiers  were  forcing  their  horses  through  the 
crowds  and  beating  with  the  flat  of  their  swords  when  two 
or  three  shots  were  fired  within,  and  it  became  certain  that 
some  of  the  students  were  using  firearms.  At  that  the  bull- 
dog in  the  British  Colonel  got  the  better  of  the  man  and 


152  THE    ^yHITE    PROPHET 

he  wanted  to  shout  a  command  to  his  men  to  use  the  edge 
of  their  weapons  and  clear  the  place  at  any  cost,  but  the 
shrill  cry  of  the  mother  over  her  dead  boy  drowned  his  thick 
voice. 

"  He  is  dead !  They  have  killed  him !  My  only  child ! 
His  father  died  last  week.  God  took  him,  and  now  I  have 
nobody.    Ali,  come  back  to  me !     AH !     Ali !  " 

"  Take  that  yelping  b away,"  shouted   the   Colonel, 

ripping  out  an  oath  of  impatience,  and  that  was  the  moment 
when  Gordon  came  up. 

What  he  did  then  he  could  never  afterward  remember, 
but  what  others  saw  was  that  with  the  spring  of  a  tiger  he 
leaped  up  to  Macdonald,  laid  hold  of  him  by  the  collar  of 
his  khaki  jacket,  dragged  him  from  the  saddle,  flung  him 
headlong  on  to  the  ground  and  stamped  on  him  as  if  he 
had  been  a  poisonous  snake. 

In  another  moment  there  would  have  been  no  more  Mac- 
donald, but  just  then,  while  the  soldiers,  recognising  their 
first  staff  ofiicer,  stood  dismayed,  not  knowing  what  it  was 
their  duty  to  do,  there  came  over  the  sibilant  hiss  of  the 
crowd  the  loud  clangour  of  the  hoofs  of  galloping  horses, 
and  the  native  people  laid  hold  of  Gordon  and  carried  him 
away. 

His  great  strength  was  now  gone,  and  he  felt  himself 
being  dragged  out  of  the  hard  glare  of  the  light  into  the 
shadow  of  a  side  street  where  he  was  thrust  into  a  carriage, 
and  held  down  in  it  by  somebody  who  was  saying: 

"Lie  still,  my  brother!     Lie  still!     Lie  still!" 

For  one  instant  longer  he  heard  deafening  shouts 
through  the  carriage  glass,  over  the  rumble  of  the  moving 
•wheels,  and  then  a  blank  darkness  fell  on  him  for  a  time 
and  he  knew  no  more. 

When  he  recovered  consciousness  his  mind  had  swung 
back,  with  no  memory  of  anything  between,  to  the  mo- 
ment when  he  was  leaving  the  General's  house,  and  he  was 
saying  to  himself  again:  ''I  must  go  back.  She  may 
curse  me,  but  I  cannot  leave  her  alone.  I  cannot — I  will 
not." 

Then  he   was   aware   of   a   voice — it  was  the   quavering 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  153 

voice  of  an  old  man  and  seemed  to  come  out  of  a  toothless 
mouth — saying : 

"  Be  careful,  Michael !  His  poor  hand  is  injured.  We 
must  send  for  the  Surgeon." 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  that  he  was  being  carried 
through  a  quiet  courtyard  where  he  could  hear  the  footsteps 
of  the  men  who  bore  him  and  see  by  the  light  of  a  smoking 
lantern  the  fagade  of  a  church.  Then  he  heard  the  same 
quavering  voice  say : 

"  Take  him  up  to  the  salamlik,  my  brother,"  and  then 
there  was  a  jerk  and  a  jolt  and  he  lost  consciousness  again. 

He  was  lying  on  a  bed  in  a  dimly  lighted  room  when 
memory  returned  and  the  events  of  the  day  unrolled  them- 
selves before  him.  He  made  an  effort  to  raise  himself  on 
his  elbows,  but  in  his  weakness  he  fell  back,  and  after  a 
while  he  dropped  into  a  delirious  sleep.  In  this  sleep  he 
saw  first  his  mother  and  then  Helena,  and  then  Helena  and 
again  his  mother — everything  and  everybody  else  being 
quite  blotted  out. 


Ill 

Soox  after  sunset  Lady  Xuneham  had  taken  her  last 
dose  of  medicine,  and  had  got  into  bed,  when  the  Consul- 
General  came  into  her  room.  He  had  the  worn  and  jaded 
look  by  which  she  knew  that  the  day  had  gone  heavily  with 
him,  and  she  waited  for  him  to  tell  her  how  and  why.  With 
a  face  full  of  the  majesty  of  suffering  he  told  her  what  had 
happened,  describing  the  scene  in  the  General's  office  and 
all  the  circumstances  whereby  matters  had  been  brought  to 
such  a  tragic  pass. 

"  It  was  pitiful,"  he  said.  "  The  General  went  too  far — 
much  too  far — and  the  sight  of  Gordon's  white  face  and 
trembling  lips  was  more  than  I  could  bear." 

His  voice  thickened  as  he  spoke,  and  it  seemed  to  the 
mother  at  that  moment  as  if  the  pride  of  the  father  in  his 
son.  which  he  had  hidden  so  many  years  in  the  sealed  cham- 


154  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

ber  of  his  iron  soul,  had  only  come  up  at  length  that  she 
might  see  it  die. 

"  It's  all  over  now,  I  suppose,  and  we  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  lie  promised  so  well,  though !  Alwaj's  did — ever 
since  he  was  a  boy.  If  one's  children  could  only  remain 
children!  The  pity  of  it!  Good-uight!  Good-night, 
Janet!" 

She  had  listened  to  him  without  speaking  and  without 
a  tear  coming  into  her  eyes,  and  she  answered  his  good- 
night in  a  low  but  steady  voice.  Soon  afterward  the  gong 
sounded  in  the  hall,  and  as  she  lay  in  her  bed  she  knew  that 
he  would  be  dining  alone — one  of  the  great  men  of  the 
world  and  one  of  the  loneliest. 

Meantime  Fatimah,  tidying  up  the  room  for  the  night 
and  sniffling  audibly,  was  talking  as  much  to  herself  as  to 
her  mistress.  At  one  moment  she  was  excusing  the  Consul- 
General,  at  the  next  she  was  excusing  Gordon.  Lady  Nune- 
ham  let  her  talk  on  and  gave  no  sign  until  darkness  fell 
and  the  moment  came  for  the  Egyptian  woman  also  to  get 
into  her  bed.     Then  the  old  lady  said: 

"  Open  the  door  of  this  room,  Fatimah,"  pointing  to  a 
room  on  her  right. 

Fatimah  did  so,  without  saying  a  word,  and  then  she 
lay  down,  blowing  her  nose  demonstratively  as  if  trying  to 
drown  other  noises. 

From  her  place  on  her  pillow  the  old  lady  could  now  see 
into  the  adjoining  chamber  and  through  its  two  windows 
on  to  the  Nile.  A  bright  moon  had  risen,  and  she  lay  a 
long  time  looking  into  the  silvery  night. 

Somewhere  in  the  dead  waste  of  the  early  morning  the 
Egyptian  woman  thought  she  heard  somebody  calling  her, 
and  rising  in  alarm  she  found  that  her  mistress  had  left 
her  bed  and  was  speaking  in  a  toneless  voice  in  the  next 
room. 

"Fatimah!  Are  you  awake?  Isn't  the  boy  very  restless 
to-night  ?  He  throws  his  arms  out  in  his  sleep  and  uncov- 
ers little  Ilafiz,  too." 

She  was  standing  in  her  night  dress  and  lace  night-cap 
with  the  moon  shining  in  her  face  by  the  side  of  one  of  the 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  155 

two  beds  the  room  contained,  tug-ging  at  its  eiderdown 
coverlet.  Her  eyes  had  the  look  of  eyes  that  did  not  see, 
but  she  stood  up  firmly  and  seemed  to  have  become  younger 
and  stronger — so  swiftly  had  her  spirit  carried  her  back  in 
sleep  to  the  woman  she  used  to  be. 

"  Oh,  my  heart,  no,"  said  Fatimah.  "  Gordon  hasn't 
slept  in  this  room  for  nearly  twenty  years — nor  Hafiz 
neither." 

At  the  sound  of  Fatimah's  husky  voice  and  the  touch  of 
her  moist  fingers  the  old  lady  awoke. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  she  said,  and  after  a  moment,  in  a 
sadder  tone,  "  Yes,  yes." 

"  Come,  my  heart,  come,"  said  Fatimah,  and  taking  her 
cold  and  nerveless  hand,  she  led  her,  now  a  weak  old  woman 
once  more,  back  to  her  bed,  for  the  years  had  rolled  up  like 
a  tidal  wave  and  the  spell  of  her  sweet  dream  was  broken. 

On  a  little  table  by  the  side  of  her  bed  stood  a  portrait 
of  Helena  in  a  silver  frame,  and  she  took  it  up  and  looked 
at  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  light  which  Fatimah  had 
switched  on  was  put  out  again.  After  a  little  while  there 
was  a  sigh  in  the  darkness,  and  after  a  little  while  longer 
a  soft,  tremulous : 

"Ah,  well!" 

IV 

Helena  was  still  in  her  room  when  the  Consul-General, 
who  had  been  telephoned  for,  held  an  inquiry  into  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  General's  death.  She  was  sitting  with 
her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap  and  her  eyes  looking  fixedly 
before  her,  hardly  listening,  hardly  hearing,  while  the  black 
boy  darted  in  and  out  with  broken  and  breathless  messages 
which  contained  the  substance  of  what  was  said. 

The  household  servants  could  say  nothing  except  that, 
following  in  the  wake  of  the  new  prophet  when  he  left  the 
Citadel,  they  had  left  the  house  by  the  side  gate  of  the 
garden  without  being  aware  of  anything-  that  had  happened 
in  the  General's  office.  The  Surgeon  testified  to  the  finding 
of  the  General's  body  and  the  aide-de-camp  explained  that 


156  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

the  last  time  lie  saw  his  chief  alive  was  when  he  was  ordered 
to  call  Colonel  Macdonnld. 

"Who  was  with  him  at  that  moment?"  asked  the 
Consul-General. 

"  The  Egyptian,  Ishmael  Ameer." 

"  Was  there  anything  noticeable  in  their  appearance  and 
demeanour  ? " 

"  The  General  looked  hot  and  indignant." 

"  Did  you  think  there  had  been  angry  words  between 
them?" 

"  I  certainly  thought  so,  my  lord." 

Other  witnesses  there  were,  such  as  the  soldier  servant 
at  the  door,  who  made  a  lame  excuse  for  leaving  his  post 
for  a  few  minutes  while  the  Egyptian  was  in  the  General's 
office,  and  the  sentry  at  the  gate  of  the  Citadel,  who  said 
no  one  had  come  in  after  Colonel  Macdonald  and  the  cavalry 
had  passed  out.  Then  some  question  of  calling  Helena  herself 
was  promptly  quashed  by  the  Consul-General,  and  the 
inquiry  closed. 

Hardly  had  the  black  boy  delivered  the  last  of  his  mes- 
sages when  there  was  a  timid  knock  at  Helena's  door,  and 
the  Army  Surgeon  came  into  the  room.  He  was  a  small 
man  with  an  uneasy  manner,  married,  and  having  a  family 
of  grown-up  girls  who  were  understood  to  be  a  cause  of 
anxiety  to  him. 

"  I  regret — I  deeply  regret  to  tell  you,  Miss  Graves,  that 
your  father's  death  has  been  due  to  heart-failure,  the  result 
of  undue  excitement.  You  will  do  me  the  justice — I  am 
sure  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that  I  repeat- 
edly warned  the  General  of  the  danger  of  over-exciting 
himself,  but  unfortunately  his  temperament  was  such " 

The  Consul-General's  deep  voice  in  the  adjoining  room 
seemed  to  interrupt  the  Surgeon,  and  making  a  visible  call 
on  his  resolution  he  came  closer  to  Helena  and  said: 

"  I  have  not  mentioned  my  previous  knowledge  of 
organic  trouble.  Lord  Nuneham  asked  some  searching  ques- 
tions, Vjut  the  promise  I  made  to  your  father " 

Again  the  Consul-General's  voice  interrupted  him,  and 
with  a  flicker  of  fear  on  his  face  he  said: 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  157 

"  Now  that  things  have  turned  out  so  unhappily  it 
might  perhaps  be  awkward  for  me  if —  In  short,  my  dear 
Miss  Graves,  I  think  I  may  rely  on  you  not  to —  Thank 
you,  thank  you ! "  he  said,  as  Helena,  understanding  his 
anxiety,  shook  her  head. 

"  I  thought  it  would  relieve  you  to  receive  my  assurance 
that  death  was  due  to  natural  causes  only — purely  natural. 
It's  true  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  perhaps  there  had 
also  been  violence " 

"Violence?"  said  Helena. 

"Don't  let  me  alarm  you.  It  was  only  a  passing  im- 
pression and  I  should  be  sorry,  very  sorry " 

But  just  at  that  moment,  when  a  new  thought  was  pass- 
ing through  the  stormy  night  of  Helena's  mind  like  a  shaft 
of  deadly  lightning,  the  Chaplain  of  the  Forces  came  into 
the  room  and  the  Surgeon  left  it. 

The  Chaplain  was  a  well-nurtured  person  who  talked 
comfort  out  of  a  full  stomach  with  the  expansiveness  which 
sometimes  comes  to  clergy  who  live  long  amongst  soldiers. 

"I  have  come  to  say,  my  dear  young  lady,  that  I  place 
myself  entirely  at  your  service.  With  your  permission  I 
will  charge  myself  with  all  the  sad  and  necessary  duties. 
So  sudden!  So  unexpected!  How  true  that  in  the  midst 
of  life  we  are  in  death !  " 

There  was  more  coin  from  the  same  mint,  and  then  the 
shaft  of  deadly  lightning  as  before. 

"  It  is  perhaps  the  saddest  fact  of  death  in  this  Eastern 
climate  that  burial  follows  so  closely  after  it.  As  there 
seems  to  be  no  sufficient  reason  to  believe  that  the  General's 
death  has  been  due  to  any  but  natural  causes,  it  will  prob- 
ably be  to-morrow.     I  say  it  will  probably " 

"  Sufficient  ? "  said  Helena,  and  with  a  new  poison  at 
her  heart  she  hurried  away  to  her  father's  room. 

She  found  the  General  where  they  had  placed  him,  on 
his  own  bed  and  in  his  uniform.  His  eyes  were  now  closed, 
his  features  were  composed,  and  everything  about  him  was 
suggestive  of  a  peaceful  end. 

While  she  was  standing  by  the  bed  in  the  gloomy,  echo- 
less  chamber,  the  Consul-General  came  in  and  stood  beside 


158  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

her.  Thoiigh  he  faintly  simulated  his  natui'al  composure 
he  was  deeply  shaken.  For  a  moment  he  looked  down  at 
his  dead  friend  in  silence,  while  his  eyelids  blinked  and  his 
lips  trembled.  Then  he  took  Helena's  hand,  and  drawing 
her  aside  he  said : 

"  This  is  a  blow  to  all  of  us,  my  child,  but  to  you  it  is 
a  great  and  terrible  one." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  stood  with  her  dry  eyes  looking 
straight  before  her. 

"  I  have  made  strict  inquiry  and  I  am  satisfied — entirely 
satisfied — that  your  father  died  by  the  visitation  of  God." 

Still  she  did  not  speak  and  after  a  moment  he  spoke 
again. 

"  It  is  true  that  the  man  Ishmael  Ameer  was  the  last 
to  be  with  him,  but  what  happened  at  their  interview  it 
would  be  useless  to  ask — dangerous,  perhaps,  in  the  present 
state  of  public  feeling." 

She  listened  with  complete  self-possession  and  strong 
hold  of  her  feelings,  though  her  bosom  heaved  and  her 
breathing  was  audible. 

"  So  let  us  put  away  painful  thoughts,  Helena.  After 
all,  your  father's  end  was  an  enviable  one,  and  harder  for 
us  than  for  him,  you  know." 

He  looked  steadily  for  a  moment  at  her  averted  face  and 
then  said,  in  a  husky  voice: 

"  I'm  sorry  Lady  Nuneham  is  so  much  of  an  invalid  that 
she  cannot  come  to  see  you.  This  is  the  moment  when  a 
mother " 

He  stopped  without  finishing  what  he  had  intended  to 
say,  and  then  he  said : 

"  I'm  still  more  sorry  that  one  who " 

Again  he  stopped,  and  then  in  a  low,  smothered,  scarcely 
audible  voice,  he  said,  hurriedly : 

"  But  that  is  all  over  now.  Good-night,  my  child !  God 
help  you !  " 

Helena  was  standing  where  the  Consul-General  had  left 
her,  fighting  hard  against  a  fearful  thought  which  had  only 
vaguely  taken  shape  in  her  mind,  when  the  black  boy  came 
back  with  his  mouth  full  of  news. 


THE    SHADOW   OF   THE    SWORD  159 

The  bell  of  the  telephone  had  rung  furiously  for  the 
English  lord  and  he  had  gone  away  hurriedly,  his  horses 
galloping  through  the  g'ate;  there  had  been  a  riot  at  El 
Azhar;  a  boy  had  been  shot;  a  hundred  students  had  been 
killed  with  swords;  the  cavalry  were  clearing  the  streets, 
and  the  people  were  trooping  in  thousands  into  the  great 
mosque  of  the  Sultan  Hakim,  where  the  new  prophet  was 
preaching  to   them. 

Helena  listened  to  the  terrible  story  as  to  some  far-off 
event  which  in  the  tempest  of  her  own  trouble  did  not  con- 
cern her,  and  then  she  sent  the  boy  away.  Gordon  had 
been  right — plainly  right — from  the  first,  but  what  did  it 
matter  now? 

Some  hours  passed,  and  again  and  again  the  black  boy 
came  back  to  the  room  with  fresh  news  and  messages,  first 
to  say  that  her  supper  was  served,  next  that  her  bedroom 
was  ready,  and  finally,  with  shamefaced  looks  and  a  face 
blubbered  over  with  tears,  to  explain  the  cause  of  his  ab- 
sence from  the  house  when  the  tragic  incident  happened. 
He  had  followed  the  crowd  out  of  the  Citadel,  and  only 
when  he  found  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  had  he  thought. 
"  Who  is  to  take  care  of  lady  while  Mosie  is  away  ?  "  Then 
he  had  run  back  fast,  very  fast,  but  he  was  too  late — it  was 
all  over. 

"Will  lady  ever  forgive  Mosie?  Will  lady  like  Mosie 
any  more  ? " 

Helena  comforted  the  little  twisted  and  tortured  soul 
witli  some  words  of  cheer  and  then  sent  him  to  bed.  But 
with  a  sad  longing  in  h.is  big  eyes  and  the  look  of  a  dumb 
creature  that  wanted  to  lick  her  hand,  he  came  back  to  say 
he  could  not  sleep  in  his  own  room  because  death  was  in 
the  house,  and  might  he  sit  on  the  floor  where  lady  was  and 
keep  her  company? 

Touched  by  the  tender  bit  of  human  nature  that  was 
tearing  the  big  little  soul  of  the  black  boy  who  worshipped 
her,  Helena  went  back  to  her  own  bedroom,  and  then  a  grin 
of  delight  passed  over  Mosie's  ugly  face,  and  he  said : 

"  Never  mind !  It's  nothing !  Lady  will  forget  all 
about  it  to-morrow.     !N"ow  lady  will  lie  down  and  sleep." 


160  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Helena  put  out  the  light  in  her  room,  and  sitting  by  the 
open  window  she  looked  long  into  the  moonlight  that  lay 
over  the  city.  At  one  moment  she  heard  the  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs — Macdonald's  cavalry  were  returning  to  the 
Citadel  after  their  efforts  in  the  interests  of  peace  and 
order.  At  intervals  she  heard  the  ghafirs  (watchmen)  who 
cried  "Wahhed!"  (God  is  One)  in  the  silent  streets  below. 
Constantly  she  looked  across  to  the  barracks  that  stood  at 
the  edge  of  the  glistening  Xile,  and  at  every  moment  the 
cruel  core  in  her  heart  grew  yet  more  hard. 

Why  had  not  Gordon  come  to  her?  He  must  know  of 
her  father's  death  by  this  time — why  was  he  not  there? 
Why  had  he  not  written  to  her  at  all  events?  It  was  true 
they  had  parted  in  anger,  but  what  of  that?  He  had  never 
loved  her  or  he  would  be  with  her  now.  She  had  done  well 
to  drive  him  away  from  her,  and  thank  God  she  would 
never  see  him  again ! 

The  moon  died  out,  a  cold  breath  passed  thi'ough  the 
air,  the  city  seemed  to  yawn  in  its  sleep,  the  dawn  came 
with  its  pale  pink  streamers  and  with  its  joyous  birds — the 
happy,  heart-breaking  children  of  the  air — twittering  in  the 
eaves,  and  then  the  pride  and  hatred  of  her  wounded  heart 
broke  down  utterly. 

She  wanted  Gordon  now  as  she  had  never  wanted  him 
before.  She  wanted  the  sound  of  his  voice,  she  wanted  the 
touch  of  his  hand,  she  wanted  to  lay  her  head  on  his  breast 
like  a  child  and  hear  him  tell  her  that  it  would  all  be  well. 

She  found  a  hundred  excuses  for  him  in  as  many  min- 
utes. He  was  a  prisoner — how  could  he  leave  his  quarters? 
They  might  be  keeping  him  under  close  arrest — how  could 
he  get  away?  Perhaps  they  had  never  even  told  him  of  her 
father's  death — how  could  he  write  to  her  about  it? 

In  the  fever  of  her  fresh  thought  she  decided  that  she 
herself  would  tell  him,  and  in  the  tumult  of  her  confused 
brain  she  never  doubted  that  he  would  come  to  her.  Regu- 
lations? They  would  count  for  nothing.  He  was  brave,  he 
was  fearless,  he  would  find  a  way.  Already  she  could  see 
him  flinging  open  the  door  of  her  room,  and  she  could  feel 
herself  flying  into  his  arms. 


*'. 


r;aS&*- 


•JJ 


— _>fcA^ ^      ^  _  _  , . 

[Page  101.] 

"'Oh,  Allah,  Most  High,  Most  Merciful,  make  lady  sleep!'" 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  161 

Thus  with  a  yearning  and  choking  heart,  in  the  vacant 
stiUness  of  the  early  dawn,  she  sat  down  to  write  to  Gordon. 
This  is  what  she  wrote: 

"  Six  o'clock,  Sunday  morning. 

"  Dearest:  The  greatest  sorrow  I  have  ever  known — God, 
our  good  God,  has  taken  my  beloved  father. 

"  He  loved  you  and  was  always  so  proud  of  you.  He 
thought  there  was  nobody  like  you.  I  try  to  think  how  it 
all  happened  at  the  end,  and  I  cannot. 

"  Forgive  me  for  what  I  said  yesterday.  It  seems  you 
were  right  about  everything,  and  everybody  else  was  wrong. 
But  that  doesn't  matter  now — nothing  matters. 

"  I  want  you.  I  have  nobody  else.  I  am  quite  alone. 
God  help  me !     Come  to  me  soon " 

Unconsciously  she  was  speaking  the  words  aloud  as  she 
wrote  them,  and  sobbing  as  she  wrote.  Suddenly  she  be- 
came aware  of  another  voice  in  the  adjoining  room.  She 
thought  it  might  be  Gordon's  voice,  and  catching  her  breath 
she  rose  to  listen.  Then  in  a  muffled,  broken,  tear-laden 
tone,  these  words  came  to  her  through  the  wall : 

"  0  Allah,  most  High,  most  Merciful,  make  lady  sleep. 
Make  lady  sleep,  O  Allah,  most  High,  most  Merciful !  " 

Her  black  boy  had  been  lying  all  night  like  a  dog  on  the 
mat  behind  her  door. 


Before  Gordon  opened  his  eyes  that  morning  he  heard 
the  tinkling  of  cymbals  and  the  sweet  sound  of  the  voices 
of  boys  singing  in  a  choir,  and  he  felt  for  a  moment  as  if 
he  were  carried  back  to  his  school  at  Eton,  where  the  morn- 
ing dawned  on  green  fields  to  the  joyous  carolling  of  birds. 

Then  he  looked  and  saw  that  he  was  lying  in  a  little 
yellow-curtained  room  which  was  full  of  the  gentle  rays  of 
the  early  sun,  and  opened  on  a  garden  in  a  quiet  courtyard, 
with  one  date  tree  in  the  middle  and  the  fagade  of  a  Chris- 
tian Church  at  the  opposite  side.     In  the  disarray  of  his 


162  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

senses  he  could  not  at  first  remember  what  had  happened 
to  him  and  he  said  aloud: 

"Where  am  I?" 

Then  a  cheery  voice  by  his  side  said :  "  Ah,  you  are 
awake?"  and  an  elderly  man  Avith  a  good,  simple,  homely 
face  looked  down   at   him  and   smiled. 

"What  place  is  this?"  asked  Gordon. 

"  This?"  said  the  good  man.  "  This  is  the  house  of  the 
Coptic  Patriarch.  And  I  am  Michael,  the  Patriarch's  serv- 
ant. He  brought  you  home  in  his  carriage  last  night.  Out 
of  the  riots  in  the  streets,  you  know.  But  I  must  tell  him 
3'ou  are  awake.  '  Tell  me  the  moment  he  opens  his  eyes, 
Michael,'  he  said.  No  time  to  lose,  though.  Listen! 
They're  at  matins.  He'll  be  going  into  church  soon.  Lie 
still !     I'll  be  back  presently." 

Then  Gordon  remembered  everything.  The  events  of 
the  night  before  rose  before  him  in  a  moment  and  he  drank 
of  memory's  very  dregs.  He  had  closed  his  eyes  again  with 
a  groan  when  he  heard  shuffling  footsteps  coming  into  the 
room,  and  a  husk.y,  kindly  voice,  interrupted  by  gusty 
breathing,  saying  cheerfully : 

"God  be  praised!  Michael  tells  me  you  are  awake  and 
well." 

The  Coptic  Patriarch  was  a  little  man  in  a  black  turban 
and  a  kind  of  black  cassock,  very  old,  nearly  ninety  years 
of  age,  and  with  a  saintly  face  in  which  the  fires  of  life 
had  kindled  no  evil  passions. 

"  Don't  speak  yet,  my  son.  Don't  exhaust  yourself. 
The  Surgeon  said  you  were  to  have  rest — rest  and  sleep 
above  all  things.  He  came  last  night  to  dress  your  poor 
hand.  It  was  wounded  in  the  cruel  fight  at  El  Azhar.  I 
was  passing  at  the  moment  and  the  people  put  you  into  my 
carriage.  '  Save  him,  for  the  love  of  God,'  they  said.  '  He 
is  our  brother  and  he  will  be  taken.'  So  I  brought  you 
home,  seeing  you  were  hurt  and  not  knowing  what  else  to 
do  with  you.  But  now  I  am  glad  and  thankful,  having  read 
the  newspapers  this  morning  and  learned  that  you  were  in 
great  peril — No,  no,  my  son — lie  still." 

Gordon  made  an  effort  to  raise  himself  on  his  elbow,  but 


THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    SWORD  163 

resting  his  weight  on  his  left  hand  and  finding  it  was  closely 
bandaged  and  gave  him  pain,  he  was  easily  pushed  back  to 
his  pillow, 

"  Lie  still  until  the  Surgeon  comes.  Michael  has  gone 
for  him.  He  will  be  here  immediately.  A  good  man — make 
yourself  sure  about  that.  He  will  be  secret.  He  will  say 
nothing." 

Then  there  came  through  the  open  window  the  sound  of 
footsteps  on  the  gravel  path  of  the  garden,  and  the  old 
Patriarch,  leaning  over  Gordon,  said  in  the  same  husky, 
kindly  whisper: 

"  They  are  coming,  and  I  must  go  into  chui'ch.  But 
don't  be  afraid.  You  did  bravely  and  nobly,  and  no  harm 
shall  come  to  you  while  you  are  here." 

Hardly  knowing  what  to  understand,  but  choking  with 
confusion  and  shame,  Gordon  heard  the  old  man's  shuffling 
step  going  out  of  the  room,  and,  a  moment  afterward,  the 
firm  tread  of  the  Surgeon  coming  into  it. 

The  Surgeon,  who  was  a  middle-aged  man,  a  Copt,  with 
a  bright  face  and  a  hearty  manner,  took  Gordon's  right  arm 
t©   feel  his  pulse,  and  said : 

"Better!  Much  better!  Last  night  the  condition  was 
so  serious  that  I  found  it  necessary  to  inject  morphia. 
There  was  the  hand,  too,  you  know.  The  third  finger  had 
been  badly  hurt,  and  I  was  compelled  to  take  the  injured 
part  away.     This  morning,  however " 

But  Gordon's  impatience  could  restrain  itself  no  longer. 
"  Doctor,"  he  said,  clutching  at  the  Surgeon's  sleeve,  "  close 
the  door  and  tell  me  what  has  happened." 

The  Surgeon  repeated  the  reports  which  appeared  in  the 
English  newspapers — about  the  clearing  out  of  El  Azhar, 
the  shooting  of  the  boy,  the  killing  of  a  hundred  students 
by  the  sword  and  the  imprisonment  of  nearly  four  hundred 
others.  And  then,  thinking  that  the  drug  he  had  adminis- 
tered was  still  beclouding  his  patient's  brain,  he  spoke  of 
Gordon's  own  share  in  the  bad  work  of  the  night  before — 
how  he  had  refused  to  obey  instructions  and  been  ordered 
under  open  arrest  to  return  to  his  own  quarters ;  how  he  had 
defied  authority,  and,  making  his  way  to  the  University,  had 


164  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

perpetrated  a  violent  personal  attack  on  the  officer  com- 
manding the  troops  there. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,  you  know,  but  what  Colonel 
Macdonald  has  communicated  to  the  press — contrary,  I 
should  think,  to  Army  regulations  and  all  sense  of  hon- 
our and  decency — but  he  says  you  have  been  guilty  of  a 
three-fold  offence,  first  mutiny,  next  desertion,  and  finally 
gross  assault  on  an  officer  while  in  the  execution  of  his 
duty." 

Gordon  had  hardly  listened  to  this  part  of  the  Surgeon's 
story,  but  his  face  betrayed  a  feverish  eagerness  when  the 
Surgeon  said : 

"  There  is  something  else,  but  I  hardly  know  whether  I 
ought  to  tell  you." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Gordon,  though  he  knew  full  well 
what  the  Surgeon  was  about  to  say. 

"  It  occurred  last  night,  too,  but  the  Consul-General  has 
managed  to  keep  it  out  of  the  morning  newspapers.  I  feel 
I  ought  to  tell  you,  though,  and  if  I  could  be  sure  you  would 
take  it  calmly " 

"  Tell  me." 

"  General  Graves  is  dead.  He  was  found  dead  on  the 
floor  of  his  office.     His  daughter  found  him." 

Gordon  covered  his  face  and  asked,  in  a  voice  which  he 
tried  in  vain  to  render  natural,  "  What  do  they  say  he 
died  of?" 

"God!"  said  the  Surgeon.  "That's  what  the  Moham- 
medans call  it,  and  I  don't  know  that  science  can  find  a 
better  name." 

Suffocating  with  the  sickness  of  fear,  Gordon  said: 
"What  about  his  daughter?" 

"  Bearing  herself  with  a  strange  stoicism,  they  say. 
Not  a  tear  on  her  face,  they  tell  me.  But  if  I  know  any- 
thing of  human  nature  she  is  suffering  all  the  more  for  that, 
poor  girl !  " 

Gordon  threw  off  the  counterpane  and  rose  in  bed.  "  I'm 
better  now,"  he  said.    "  Let  me  get  up.     I  must  go  out." 

"Impossible!"  said  the  Surgeon.  "You  are  far  too 
weak  to  go  into  the  streets.    Besides,  you  would  never  reach 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  165 

your  destination.  Macdonald  would  take  care  of  that. 
Haven't.  I  told  you?  He  has  given  it  out  that  the  penalty 
of  military  law  for  the  least  of  your  offences  is — well, 
death !  " 

Gordon  dropped  back  in  bed  and  the  Surgeon  continued: 
"  But  if  you  have  a  message  to  send  to  any  one,  why  not 
write  it?  Michael  will  see  that  it  reaches  safe  hands.  I'll 
send  him  in.  He's  cooking  some  food  for  you  and  I'll  tell 
him  to  bring  paper  and  pens." 

With  that  the  Surgeon  left  him,  and  a  moment  later  the 
serving-man's  cheery  face  came  into  the  room  behind  a 
smoking  basin  of  savoury  broth. 

"Here  it  is!  You're  to  drink  it  at  once,"  he  said,  and 
then,  taking  a  writing  pad  from  under  his  arm-pit,  he  laid 
it  with  pens  and  ink  on  a  table  by  the  bed,  saying  the  Doctor 
had  told  him  he  was  to  deliver  a  letter. 

Gordon  replied  that  he  would  ring  when  he  was  ready, 
whereupon  Michael  said:  "Good!  You'll  take  your  broth 
first.  It  will  put  some  strength  into  you,"  and  he  smiled  and 
nodded  his  simple  face  out  of  the  room. 

In  vain  Gordon  tried  to  write  to  Helena.  His  first  im- 
pulse was  to  tell  her  all,  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  every- 
thing :  "  Dearest  Helena :  I  am  in  the  deepest  sorrow  and 
shame,  but  I  cannot  live  another  hour  without  letting  you 
know  that  your  dear  father " 

But  that  was  impossible.  At  a  moment  when  one  great 
blow  had  fallen  on  her  it  was  impossible  to  inflict  another. 
If  she  suffered  now  when  she  thought  her  father  had  died 
by  the  hand  of  God,  how  much  more  would  she  suffer  if 
she  heard  that  his  death  had  been  due  to  violence,  to  foul 
play,  to  the  hand  of  the  man  who  said  he  loved  her? 

Destroying  his  first  attempt,  Gordon  began  again :  "  My 
poor,  dear  Helena:  I  am  inexpressibly  shocked  and  grieved 
by  the  news  of " 

But  that  was  impossible  also.  Its  hypocrisy  of  conceal- 
ment seemed  to  blister  his  very  soul.  He  tried  again  and 
yet  again,  but  not  a  word  would  come  that  was  not  cruel  or 
false.  Then  a  great  trembling  came  over  him  as  he  realised 
that  being  what  he  was  to  Helena,  and  she  being  what  she 
12 


166  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

was  to  her  father,  he  was  struck  dumb  before  her  as  by  the 
hand  of  heaven. 

Hours  passed,  and,  though  the  day  was  bright,  a  deep, 
impenetrable  darkness  seemed  to  close  around  him.  At  cer- 
tain moments  he  was  vaguely  conscious  of  noises  in  the 
streets  outside,  a  great  scuttling  and  scurrying  of  feet,  a 
loud  clamour  of  tongues  chopping  and  ripping  the  air,  the 
barking  and  bleating  of  a  mob  in  full  flight,  and  then  the 
clattering  of  horses'  hoofs  and  the  whistling  and  shouting 
of  soldiers. 

Michael  came  back  of  himself  at  last,  having  waited  in 
vain  to  be  summoned,  and  he  was  full  of  news.  All  busi- 
ness in  Cairo  had  been  suspended,  the  Xotables  had  met  in 
the  Opera  Square  to  condemn  the  action  of  the  British  Army, 
a  vast  multitude  of  Egyptians  had  joined  them,  and  they  had 
gone  up  to  the  house  of  the  Grand  Cadi  to  ask  him  to  call 
on  the  Sultan  to  protest  to  England. 

"Well,  well?"  said  Gordon. 

"  The  Cadi  was  afraid,  and  hearing  the  crowd  were 
coming,  he  barricaded  his  doors  and  windows." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"They  wrecked  his  house,  shouting:  'Down  with  the 
Turks ! '  '  Long  live  Egypt ! '  But  the  Cadi  himself  was 
inside,  sir,  speaking  on  the  telephone  to  the  officer  command- 
ing on  the  Citadel,  and  they  came  galloping  up  and  took 
a  hundred  and  fifty  prisoners." 

In  spite  of  his  better  feelings  Gordon  felt  a  certain  joy 
in  the  bad  news  Michael  brought  him.  He  had  been  right ! 
Everj'body  would  see  that  he  had  been  right!  What,  then, 
was  his  duty?  His  duty  was  to  deliver  himself  up  and  say: 
"  Here  I  am !  Court-martial  me  now  if  you  will — if  you 
dare !  " 

Plain,  practical  sense  seemed  to  tell  him  that  he  ought 
to  go  to  the  Agency,  where  his  father  (the  highest  British 
authority  in  Egypt,  even  though  a  civil  one),  seeing  the 
turn  events  had  taken,  the  chaos  into  which  affairs  had  fallen, 
and  the  ruin  which  Macdonald's  brutality  threatened,  and 
having  witnessed  the  utterly  illegal  circumstances  which 
had  attended  his  arrest,  would  place  him  in  command,  pend- 


i 


THE    SHADOW   OF    THE    SWORD  167 

ing  instructions  from  the  War  Office,  and  trust  to  his  in- 
fluence with  the  populace  to  restore  peace.  He  could  do  it^ 
too.    Why  not? 

But  the  General?  A  sickening  pang  of  hope  shot 
through  him  as  he  told  himself  that  no  one  knew  he  had 
killed  the  General,  that  even  if  he  had  done  so  it  had  only- 
been  in  self-defence,  that  the  veriest  poltroon  would  have 
done  what  he  did,  and  that  the  mind  that  counted  such  an 
act  as  crime  was  morbid  and  diseased. 

Helena  ?  She  thought  her  father  had  died  by  the  visi- 
tation of  God — why  could  he  not  leave  her  at  that  ?  She 
was  suffering,  though,  and  it  was  for  him  to  comfort 
her.  He  would  fly  to  her  side.  All  their  differences 
would  be  over  now.  She,  too,  would  see  that  he  had 
been  right  and  that  her  jealousy  had  been  mistaken  and 
then  death  with  its  mighty  wing  would  sweep  away  every- 
thing else. 

Thus  in  the  blind  labouring  of  hope  he  threw  off  the 
counterpane  again  and  got  out  of  bed,  whereupon  Michael, 
whose  garrulous  tongue  had  been  going  ever  since  he  came 
into  the  room,  first  asking  for  the  letter  which  the  Surgeon 
had  told  him  to  deliver,  then  protesting  in  plaintive  tones 
that  the  broth  was  untouched  and  now  it  was  cold,  laid 
hold  of  him  and  said: 

"  Xo,  brother,  no !  You  cannot  get  up  to-day.  Doctor 
says  you  must  not,  and  if  you  attempt  to  do  so  I  am.  to 
tell  the  Patriarch." 

But  Michael's  voice  only  whistled  by  Gordon's  ear  like 
the  wind  in  a  desert  sand-storm,  and  seeing  that  Gordon 
was  determined  to  dress,  the  good  fellow  fled  off  to  fetch 
his  master. 

Hardly  had  Michael  gone  when  the  barrenness  of  his 
hope  was  borne  down  on  Gordon's  mind,  and  he  was  asking 
himself  by  what  title  he  could  go  out  as  a  champion  of  the 
right,  being  so  deeply  in  the  wrong.  Even  if  everything 
happened  as  he  expected,  if  his  threefold  offence  against  the 
letter  of  military  law  were  overlooked  in  the  light  of  his 
obedience  to  its  spirit,  if  the  Consul-General  were  able  to 
place  him  in  command,  pending  instructions  from  the  War 


168  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Office,  and  if  he  were  capable  of  restoring  order  in  Cairo  by 
virtue  of  his  influence  with  the  inhabitants — what  then  ? 

What  of  his  conscience,  which  had  clamoured  so  loud, 
in  relation  to  his  own  conduct  ?  Could  he  continue  to  plead 
extenuation  of  his  own  offence  on  the  ground  of  the  General's 
unjustifiable  and  unsoldierly  conduct?  Or  to  tell  himself 
that  what  he  had  done  in  the  General's  house  had  been  in 
self-defence?  Had  it  been  in  self-defence  that  he  had  re- 
turned to  the  Citadel  after  he  was  ordered  to  his  own 
quarters  ?  Or  that  he  had  hurled  hot  and  insulting  words  at 
the  General,  such  as  no  man  could  listen  to  without  loss  of 
pride  or  even  self-respect  ? 

"  No,  no,  by  God,  no,"  he  thought. 

And  then  Helena  ?  With  what  conscience  could  he  com- 
fort her  in  her  sufferings,  being  himself  the  cause  of  them? 
With  what  sincerity  could  his  tongue  speak  if  his  pen 
refused  to  write?  And  if  he  juggled  himself  into  deceiving 
her,  could  he  go  on,  as  his  affections  would  tempt  him  to 
do — now  more  than  ever  since  her  father  was  gone  and  she 
was  quite  alone — to  carry  out  the  plans  he  had  made  for 
them  before  these  fearful  events  befell? 

"  Impossible !  utterly  impossible !  "  he  told  himself. 

A  grim  vision  rose  before  him  of  a  shameful  life,  cor- 
rupted by  hypocrisy  and  damned  by  deceit,  in  which  he  was 
married  to  Helena,  having  succeeded  to  her  father's  rank 
and  occupying  his  house,  his  room,  his  office,  with  one  sight 
standing  before  his  eyes  always — the  sight  of  the  General's 
body  lying  on  the  floor  where  he  had  flung  it. 

"  O  God,  save  me  from  that,"  he  thought. 

Gordon  dropped  back  to  the  bed  and  sat  on  the  edge  of 
it,  doubled  up,  and  with  his  hands  covering  his  face.  How 
long  he  sat  there  he  never  knew,  for  his  mind  was  dead- 
ened to  all  sense  of  time,  and  only  at  intervals  of  lucidity 
was  he  partly  conscious  of  what  was  going  on  outside  the 
little  pulseless  place  in  which  he  was  hidden  away  while  the 
world  went  on  without  him. 

At  one  moment  he  heard  the  bells  of  the  Coptic  Cathe- 
dral ringing  for  evensong;  then  the  light  pattering  as  of 
rain  when   the  people  passed  over  the  pavement   into   the 


THE    SHADOW   OF    THE    SWORD  169 

church;  and  then  suddenly  there  came  a  sound  that  seemed 
to  beat  on  his  very  soul. 

It  was  the  firing  of  the  guns  at  the  Citadel,  and  as  a 
soldier  he  knew  what  they  were — they  were  the  minute-guns 
for  the  General's  funeral.  Boom — boom!  He  could  see  what 
was  taking  place  as  plainly  as  if  his  eyes  beheld  it,  the 
square  of  the  mosque  lined  up  with  troops — two  battalions 
of  Infantry,  one  regiment  of  Cavalry  and  two  batteries  of 
Artillery.  Boom — hoom!  The  coffin  on  the  gun-carriage 
covered  with  the  silken  Union  Jack  and  with  the  General's 
sword  and  his  plumed  white  helmet  on  the  top  of  all. 
Boom — hoom!  The  General's  charger  immediately  behind 
the  body,  with  his  spurred  boots  in  the  stirrups  reversed. 
Boom — boom — boom!  The  officers  of  the  Army  of  Occupa- 
tion drawn  up  by  the  door  of  the  General's  house,  every  one  of 
them  that  could  be  spared  from  duty  except  himself,  who 
ought,  above  all  others,  to  be  there.  Then  the  carriages  of 
the  Consul-General  and  of  the  Egyptian  Prime  Minister, 
and  then  Boom — boom — boom — boom!  as  the  cortege  moved 
away,  to  the  slow  skirling  of  the  funeral  march,  through 
the  square  of  the  mosque  and  under  the  gate  of  the  old 
fortress. 

The  firing  ceased,  and  in  the  dumb  emptiness  of  the  air 
Gordon  saw  another  sight  that  tore  at  his  heart  still  more 
terribly.  It  was  a  room  in  the  General's  house,  dark  and 
blind  with  curtains  drawn,  and  Helena  sitting  there,  alone 
for  the  first  time,  and  no  one  to  comfort  her.  Seeing  this, 
and  thinking  of  the  barrier  that  was  between  them,  of  the 
blood  that  was  dividing  them,  and  that  they  could  never 
again  come  together,  all  his  manhood  went  down  at  last 
and  he  burst  into  tears  like  a  boy. 

"  Forgive  me,  Helena !  I  am  alone,  too !  Forgive  me, 
forgive  me !  " 

Then  over  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  he  heard  the  inno- 
cent voices  of  the  choir  boys  singing  their  evening  hymn: 
"  Remove  my  sin  from  before  Thy  sight,  O  God !  "  and  at 
the  next  moment  he  was  conscious  of  an  old  and  wrinkled 
hand  being  laid  on  his  bare  arm  and  of  somebody  by  his 
side  who  was  saying  huskily: 


170  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Peace,  my  son !     God  is  merciful !  " 
Then  the  sharp  rattle  of  three  volleys  of  musketry  com- 
ing from  far  away. 

The  body  of  the  General  had  been  committed  to  the  grave. 


VI 

Helena  had  been  in  the  act  of  sending  out  her  letter 
"when  the  General's  aide-de-camp  came  in  with  news  of  the 
doings  of  the  night  before — the  riot  at  El  Azhar,  Gordon's 
assault  on  Colonel  Macdonald,  and  then  his  disappearance, 
before  the  troops  could  recover  from  their  surprise,  as  sud- 
denly and  unaccountably  as  if  he  had  been  swallowed  up 
by  the  earth. 

"  Of  course  Macdonald  acted  like  a  brute,"  said  the 
young  Lieutenant,  "  and  the  Colonel  did  exactly  what  might 
have  been  expected  of  him  under  the  circumstances.  He 
would  have  done  the  same  if  the  offender  had  been  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief himself.  But  now  he  has  to  pay  the  pen- 
alty and  it  cannot  be  a  light  one.  Macdonald  is  scouring 
the  city  to  find  him — every  nook  and  corner  of  the  Moham- 
medan quarter.  He  has  two  motives  for  doing  so,  too — 
ambition  and  revenge." 

As  Helena  tore  up  her  letter  and  dropped  it  bit  by  bit 
into  the  waste-paper  basket,  she  felt  as  if  the  last  of  her 
hopes  dropped  with  it.  But  they  rose  again  with  the 
thought  that  though  Gordon  might  be  in  danger  he  could 
not  be  afraid,  and  that  his  love  for  her  was  so  great,  so 
unconquerable,  that  it  would  bring  him  back  to  her  now,  in 
her  time  of  trouble,  in  the  teeth  of  death  itself. 

"  He'll  come — I'm  sure  he'll  come,"  she  thought. 

In  this  confidence  she  sat  in  the  semi-darkness  of  her 
room  during  the  preparations  for  the  military  funeral,  hear- 
ing all  that  was  being  done  outside  with  that  supernatural 
acuteness  which  comes  to  the  bereaved — the  marching  of 
troops,  the  rolling  of  the  gun-carriage,  and  the  arrival  of 
friends,  as  well  as  the  soul-crushing  booming  of  the  minute- 


I 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  171 

gun.     She  was  waiting  to  be  told  that  Gordon  was  there,  and 
was  listening  for  his  name  as  her  black  boy  darted  in  and 
out   with  whispered   news   of   Egyptian   Ministers,   English  ■ 
Advisers,  inspectors  and  judges,  and  finally  the  Consul-Gen- 
eral  himself. 

When  the  last  moment  came,  and  the  band  of  the  Guards 
had  begun  to  play  "  Toll  for  the  Brave,"  and  it  was  certain 
that  Gordon  had  not  come,  her  heart  sank  low;  but  then 
she  told  herself  that  if  he  ran  the  risk  of  arrest,  that  was 
reason  enough  why  he  should  not  show  himself  at  the 
fortress. 

"  He  will  be  at  the  chapel  instead,"  she  thought,  and 
though  she  had  not  intended  to  be  present  at  the  funeral 
she  now  determined  that  she  would  do  so. 

She  was  put  into  a  carriage  with  the  Consul-General, 
and  sat  by  his  side  without  speaking,  merely  looking 
through  the  windows  at  the  crowds  that  stood  in  the  streets, 
quietly,  silently,  but  without  much  grief  on  their  faces,  and 
listening  to  the  slow  squirling  of  the  "  Dead  March  "  and 
the  roll  of  the  muffled  drums  over  the  dull  rumbling  of  the 
closed  coach. 

When  they  reached  the  cemetery  in  the  desolate  quarter 
of  old  Cairo,  and  the  band  stopped  and  the  drumming 
ceased,  and  she  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  and  the  breath- 
ing silence  of  the  open  air  was  broken  by  the  tremendous 
words,  "  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,"  she  was  sure, 
as  she  took  the  arm  of  the  Consul-General  and  walked  with 
him  over  the  crackling  gravel  to  the  door  of  the  chapel,  that 
the  moment  she  crossed  its  threshold  the  first  person  she 
would  see  would  be  Gordon. 

Her  heart  sank  lower  than  ever  when  she  realised  that 
he  was  not  there,  and  after  she  had  taken  her  seat  and  the 
chill  chapel  had  filled  up  behind  her  and  the  service  began, 
she  tried  in  vain,  save  at  moments  of  poignant  memory,  to 
fix  her  mind  on  the  awful  errand  that  had  brought  her. 

"  He  will  be  at  the  graveside,"  she  thought.  No  one 
would  arrest  him  at  a  place  like  that.  English  soldiers  were 
English  gentlemen,  and  if  the  Arab  nobleman  in  the  desert 
could  allow  the  enemy  who  had  stumbled  into  his   tent  at 


172  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

night  to  get  clear  away  in  the  morning,  Gordon  would  be 
allowed  to  stand  by  the  grave  of  his  friend  and  General  and 
BO  one  would   know  he   was   there. 

When  the  short  service  was  over  and  the  Consul-General 
drew  her  hand  through  his  arm  again,  and  they  walked 
together  over  the  gravel  and  through  the  grass  to  the  open 
grave  behind  the  rosebushes  that  grew  near  to  the  wall, 
she  thoug'ht  she  knew  she  had  only  to  raise  her  eyes  from 
the  ground  and  she  would  see  Gordon  standing  there, 
shaken  with  sobs. 

She  knew,  too,  that  the  moment  she  saw  him  she  would 
break  down  altogether,  so  she  kept  her  head  low  as  long 
as  she  could.  But  when  the  troops  had  formed  in  a  rect- 
angle, and  the  Chaplain  had  taken  his  place  and  the  last 
words  had  been  spoken,  and  through  a  deeper  hush  the  bugle 
Lad  led  the  voices  of  the  soldiers  with: 

"  Father,   in   thy   sacred   keeping 
Leave  me  now  thy  servant  sleeping," 

and  she  looked  up  at  last  and  saw  that  Gordon  had  not 
come  at  all,  she  felt  as  if  something  that  was  soft  and  tender 
within  her  had  broken  and  something  that  was  hard  and 
bitter  had  taken  its  place. 

While  the  volleys  were  being  fired  over  the  grave  the 
officers  of  the  army  came  up  to  her  one  by  one — brave  men 
all  of  them,  but  many  of  them  hardly  able  at  that  moment 
to  speak  or  see.  Still  she  did  not  weep,  and  when  the 
Consul-General  with  twitching  lips  said,  "  Let  us  go,"  she 
gave  him  her  hand  again,  though  it  was  limp  and  nerveless 
now,  and,  under  her  long  black  glove,  as  cold  as  snow. 

The  blinds  were  drawn  up  in  her  room  when  she  returned 
to  the  Citadel,  and  with  eyes  that  did  not  see  she  was  star- 
ing out  on  its  far  view  of  the  city,  the  Nile,  the  pyramids 
and  the  rolling  waves  of  the  desert  beyond,  when  a  knock 
came  to  the  door  and  the  Consul-General  entered.  He  was 
clearly  much  afi'ected.  His  firm  mouth,  which  often  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  cast  in  bronze,  seemed  now  to  be  blown 
in  foam. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  173 

"  Helena,"  lie  said,  "  the  time  has  come  to  speak  plainly, 
I  am  sori-y.     It  is  quite  unavoidable." 

After  the  first  salutation  she  continued  to  stand  by  a 
chair  and  to  stare  out  of  the  window. 

"  Gordon  has  gone.  I  can  no  longer  have  any  doubt 
about  that.  Others,  with  other  motives,  have  been  trying 
to  find  him  and  have  failed.  I  have  been  trying,  with  better 
purposes  perhaps,  but  no  better  results." 

His  voice  was  hoarse;  he  was  struggling  to  control  it. 

"  I  am  now  satisfied  that  when  he  left  this  house  after 
the  scene — the  painful,  perhaps  unsoldierly  scene  of  his — 
his  degradation,  he  took  the  advice  your  father  gave  him 
— to  fly  from  Egypt  and  hide  his  shame  in  some  other 
country." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  said : 

"It  was  scarcely  proper  advice,  perhaps;  but  who  can 
be  hot  and  cold,  wise  and  angry  in  a  moment?  Whatever 
the  merits  of  your  father's  counsel,  I  think  Gordon  made 
up  his  mind  to  follow  it.  Only  as  the  conduct  of  a  despair- 
ing man  who  knew  that  all  was  over  can  I  explain  his  last 
appearance  at  El  Azhar." 

Again  he  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then,  after  clearing 
his  throat,  he  said: 

"  I  do  not  think  we  shall  see  him  again.  I  do  not  think 
I  wish  to  see  him.  A  military  court  would  probably  hold 
him  responsible  for  the  blood  that  has  been  shed  during  the 
past  twenty-four  hours,  thinking  the  encouragement  he  gave 
the  populace  had  led  them  to  rebel.  Therefore  its  judgment 
upon  his  ofFences  as  a  soldier  could  hardly  be  less  than — 
than  the  most  severe." 

His  voice  was  scarcely  audible  as  he  added: 

"  That  would  be  harder  for  me  to  bear  than  to  think 
of  him  as  dead.  Therefore,  whatever  others  may  be  doing — 
his  mother  or — or  yourself,  I  am  cherishing  no  illusions. 
My  son  is  gone.  His  career  is  at  an  end.  Let  us — please 
let  us  say  no  more  on  the  subject." 

Helena  did  not  reply.    Her  bosom  was  stirred  by  her  rapid 
breathing,  but  she  continued   to   stare  out   of  the  window. 
After  a  moment  the  Consul-General  said  more  calmly: 
13 


174  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Have  you  any  plans  for  the  future  ? " 

Helena   shook   her  head. 

"No  desire  to  remain  in  Egypt?" 

"  No." 

^*  Any  relatives  or  friends  in  England  ?  " 

"  None." 

"Urn!  All  the  same,  I  think  it  will  he  best  for  you  to 
return  home." 

Helena  bowed  without  speaking. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  perhaps." 

"  Very  Avell." 

"  This  is  Sunday.  There  is  a  steamship  from  Alexan- 
dria on  Saturday — will  it  suit  you  to  sail  by  that  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  One  of  my  secretaries  shall  make  arrangements  and 
see  you  safely  aboard.  Meantime,  have  no  anxieties.  Eng- 
land will   take  care  of  your  father's  daughter." 

Then  he  rose,  and  taking  her  ice-cold  hand,  he  said : 

"  I  think  that  is  all.  I'll  come  up  on  Saturday  morning 
to  see  you  off.  Good-bye  for  the  present."  And  then,  in 
the  same  hoarse  voice  as  before,  looking  steadfastly  into 
her  face  for  a  moment,  "God  bless  you,  my  girl!" 

For  some  minutes  Helena  did  not  move  from  the  spot  on 
which  Lord  Nuneham  left  her.  A  sense  of  double  bereave- 
ment had  fallen  on  her  for  the  first  time  with  a  crushing 
blow.  That  some  day  she  would  lose  her  father  was  an 
idea  to  which  her  mind  had  long  been  accustomed,  but  never 
for  one  moment  until  then — not  even  in  the  bitter  hour  in 
which  they  had  parted  at  the  door — had  she  allowed  herself 
to  believe  that  a  time  would  come  when  she  would  have  to 
live  on  without  Gordon.  It  was  here  now.  The  past  and 
the  future  alike  were  closed  to  her.  A  black  curtain  had 
fallen  about  her  life.  If  Gordon  could  not  return  without 
the  risk  of  arrest  what  right  had  she  to  expect  him  to  come 
back  to  her  at  all?  He  was  gone.  He  was  lost  to  her.  She 
was  alone. 

The  city,  which  had  been  lying  hot  in  the  quivering  sun, 
began  to  grow  red  and  hazy,  and  in  the  gathering  twilight 
Helena  became    conscious    of  criers   in   the   streets   below. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  175 

The  black  boy,  who  was  always  bustling  about  her,  inter- 
preted their  cries.  They  were  crying  the  funeral  of  the 
students  who  had  fallen  at  El  Azhar.  It  was  to  take  place 
that  night.  Ishmael  Ameer  called  on  the  people  to  gather 
in  the  great  market-place  of  Mohammed  AH  and  walk  up 
by  torchlight  to  the  Arab  cemetery  outside  the  town. 

"Would  lady  like  Mosie  go  and  see?  Then  Mosie  come 
back  and  tell  lady  everything,"  said  the  black  boy,  and  in 
the  hope  of  being  alone  Helena  allowed  him  to  go. 

But  hardly  had  the  boy  gone  when  a  timid  knock  came 
to  her  door  and  the  Army  Surgeon  entered  the  room.  The 
man's  thin  lips  were  twitching  gnd  he  was  clearly  ill  at 
ease. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "  but  hearing  you  were  soon  to 
leave  for  home — I  thought  it  only  fair  to  myself —  In  fact, 
I  have  come  to  make  an  explanation." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Helena,  without  a  trace  of  interest 
in  her  tone. 

The  Surgeon  gnawed  the  ends  of  his  moustache  for  an 
instant,  and  then,  looking  uneasily  at  Helena,  he  said: 

"  When  you  come  to  turn  things  over  in  your  mind  you 
may  perhaps  think  I  was  to  blame  in  keeping  your  dear 
father's  secret.  His  condition,  however,  was  not  so  serious 
but  that  under  ordinary  circumstances — I  say  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances— he  might  have  lived  five  years,  ten  years,  even 
fifteen.     The  truth  is,  though " 

"  Well  ? " 

"  I  want  to  prove  the  sincerity  of  my  friendship, 
Miss  Graves.  I  am  sure  you  prefer  that  I  should  speak 
plainly." 

"  The  truth  is — what  ? "  asked  Helena,  who  was  now 
listening  with  strained  attention. 

"  That — that  your  dear  father's  death — I  am  now  fully 
convinced  of  it — was  due — partly  due  at  all  events — to  cir- 
cumstances that — that  were  not  ordinary." 

Helena's  pale  face  turned  white,  but  she  made  no  answer, 
and  after  a  moment  the  Surgeon  said: 

"It  would  have  been  cruel  to  tell  you  this  last  night, 
immediately    after   the    shock   of   your    bereavement,   but — 


176  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

but  now  that  you  are  going  away —  Besides,  I  spoke  to 
Lord  Nuneham.  I  mentioned  my  surmises.  But  you  know 
what  he  is — a  great  man,  undoubtedly  a  great  man,  but 
incapable  of  taking  counsel.  Always  has  been,  always  will 
be;  we  all  of  us  find  it  so." 

Helena,  seized  with  an  undefinable  fear,  was  speechless, 
but  the  Surgeon's  blundering  tongue  went  on : 

" '  Better  not  speak  of  it,'  said  Lord  Nuneham.  '  Drop 
it !  Don't  let  us  weaken  our  case  against  the  man  and  rouse 
popular  fury  by  an  accusation  we  cannot  possibly  bring 
home.  Wait !  We'll  get  hold  of  him  to  better  purpose  by 
and  by.'" 

Helena's  heart  was  beating  violently,  but  she  only  said, 
with  laboured  breathing : 

"  Can't  we  dispense  with  all  this  ?  You  have  come  to 
tell  me  that  my  father  did  not  die  from  natural  causes — 
isn't  that  it?" 

"  Yes — that  is  to  say — pardon  me — we  are  alone  ?  " 

Helena  bowed  impatiently. 

"  Then,  to  tell  you  the  truth — I  am  satisfied  that  vio- 
lence— as  a  contributing  cause  at  all  events — I  looked  at 
him  again  this  morning  when — at  the  last  moment  in  fact 
— and  the  marks  were  even  plainer  than  before." 

"Marks?" 

"  Marks  of  a  man's  hand  about  the  throat." 

"  A  man's  hand?  "  said  Helena,  with  her  lips  rather  than 
with  her  voice. 

"  I  thought  at  first  it  might  have  been  the  General's  own 
hand,  but  there  was  one  peculiarity  w^hich  forbade  that 
inference." 

"  Tell  me." 

"  It  was  the  left  hand,  and  while  the  thumb  and  the  first, 
second,  and  fourth  fingers  were  plainly  indicated,  there  was 
no  impression  made  by  the  third." 

"So?" 

"  So  I  concluded  that  the  marks  about  the  throat  must 
have  been  made  by  somebody  who  had  lost  the  third  finger 
of  his  left  hand." 

Helena   gazed   a  long   time  blankly   into   the   Surgeon's 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  177 

face,  until  at  length,  frozen  by  fear,  having  said  all,  he  tried 
to  convey  the  impression  that  he  had  said  nothing. 

"  Miss  Graves,  I  have  given  you  pain,  I  feel  I  have. 
And  mind,  I  do  not  say  certainly  that  the  hand  at  your 
father's  throat  was  the  cause  of  his  death.  It  may  have 
been  used  merely  to  push  him  off.  But  if  the  person  seen 
last  in  the  General's  company  was  apparently  quarrelling 
with  him  —  please  understand,  I  make  no  accusations. 
I  have  never  met  Ishmael  Ameer.  And  even  if  it  should 
be  found  that  he  had  this  peculiarity — of  the  third  finger, 
I  mean —  In  any  case,  the  Consul-General  will  not  hear 
of  an  indictment,  so  I'm  sure — I'm  sure  I  can  rely  on  your 
discretion.  But  hearing  you  were  going  home,  I  felt  I  could 
not  allow  you  to  think  that  I  had  permitted  your  dear 
father " 

The  Surgeon  went  stammering  on  for  some  time  longer, 
but  Helena  did  not  listen,  and  when  at  last  the  man  backed 
himself  out  of  her  room,  hugging  his  shallow  soul  with  the 
flattering  thought  that  in  following  his  selfish  impulse  he 
had  done  well,  she  did  not  hear  him  go. 

She  was  now  sure  of  a  fact  which  she  had  hitherto  only 
half  suspected.  The  Egyptian  had  killed  her  father! 
Killed  him,  there  was  no  other  word  for  it,  not  merely  by 
the  excitement  his  presence  engendered,  but  by  actual  vio- 
lence. The  authorities  knew  it,  too,  they  knew  it  perfectly, 
but  they  were  afraid — afraid  in  the  absence  of  conclusive 
evidence  to  risk  the  breakdown  of  a  charge  against  one 
whom  the  people  in  their  blindness  worshipped. 

The  sky  had  grown  blue  and  luminous  by  this  time,  the 
stars  had  come  out  in  the  distant  depths  of  the  heavens, 
and  from  the  market-place  below  the  ramparts  of  the  Cita- 
del there  came  up  into  the  clear  air  the  thick  murmuring 
of  the  vast  multitude  that  had  gathered  there,  with  ten 
thousand  smoking  torches,  to  follow  the  new  prophet  to  the 
Arab  cemetery  beyond  the  town. 

When  Helena  thought  of  the  Egyptian  again  it  was  with 
an  intensity  of  hatred  she  had  never  felt  before.  He  had 
not  only  killed  her  father  but  he  had  been  the  first  cause 
of  the  devilish  entanglement  which  had  led  to  Gordon's  dis- 


178  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

grace.  Yet  he  was  to  escape  punishment  for  these  offences, 
he  was  to  go  on  until  some  sin  against  the  State  had 
brought  him  into  the  meshes  of  its  Ministers,  while  her 
father  was  in  his  grave  and  Gordon  was  in  banishment  and 
she — she  was  sent  home  in  her  womanish  helplessness  and 
shame ! 

"  O  God !  is  there  no  one  to  punish  this  man  ? "  she 
thought,  in  the  dark  searching  of  her  soul,  while  her  finger- 
nails were  digging  trenches  in  her  palms  and  from  the  hard 
clenching   of  her  teeth   her   lips   were   bleeding. 

Then  suddenly,  in  the  delirium  of  her  hatred  of  the 
Egyptian  and  the  tragic  tangle  of  her  eri'or,  while  she  was 
standing  alone  in  her  desolate  room,  with  the  "  Allah ! " 
"  Allah !  "  of  Ishmael's  followers  surging  up  from  below,  a 
new  feeling — a  feeling  she  had  never  felt  before — stirred  in 
the  depths  of  her  abased  and  outraged  soul. 

"Shall  I  go  back  to  England?"  she  asked  herself. 
"Shall  I?" 


VII 

As  soon  as  Lord  Nunehara  reached  the  Agency,  he  went 
up  to  his  wife's  room.  The  sweet  old  lady  was  sitting  in 
her  dressing-gown  with  her  face  to  the  windows  on  the  west, 
while  the  Egyptian  woman  was  combing  out  her  thin  white 
hair  and  binding  it  up  for  the  niglit.  The  sun  was  gone, 
but  the  river  and  the  sky  were  shining  like  molten  gold, 
and  a  faint  reflected  glow  shone  on  her  soft,  pale  cheeks. 

"  Ah,  is  it  you,  John  ? "  she  said  in  a  nervous  voice,  and 
while  he  was  taking  a  seat  she  looked  at  him  with  her  deep, 
slow,  weary  eyes  as  if  waiting  for  an  answer  to  a  question 
she  was  afraid  to  ask. 

"  Helena  is  going  home,  Janet,"  said  the  old  man  after 
a  moment. 

"Poor  girl!" 

"  There  is  a  steamship  on  Saturday.  I  thought  it  better 
she  should  sail  by  that." 

"Poor  thing!    Poor  darling!" 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  179 

"  Her  will  seems  to  be  quite  gone — she  agrees  to  evcrj'- 
thing." 

"  Poor  Helena !  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  has  shed  a  tear  since  her  father  died. 
It  is  extraordinary.  She  startles  me,  almost  frightens  me. 
Either  she  is  a  girl  of  astonishing  character  or  else " 

"  She  has  had  a  great  shock,  poor  child !  Only  yesterday 
at  this  time  her  father  was  with  her,  and  now " 

"  True — quite  true  !  " 

A  hush  fell  upon  all.  Even  Fatimah's  comb  was  quiet. 
It  was  almost  as  if  a  spirit  were  passing  through  the  room. 
At  length  the  old  lady  said: 

"  Any  news  of " 

"  None." 

"  Would  you  tell  me  if  there  were  ? " 

"  If  you  asked  me — ^yes." 

"  My  poor  boy !  " 

"  Hafiz  has  inquired  everywhere.  Nobody  knows  any- 
thing about  him." 

"  He  will  come  back,  though,  I  am  sure  he  will,"  said 
Lady  Nuneham  with  a  nervous  trill,  and  then  a  strange  con- 
traction passed  over  the  Consul-General's  face,  and  he  rose 
to  go. 

"  We'll  not  speak  about  that  again,  Janet,"  he  said,  but 
full  of  the  sweetest  and  bitterest  emotion  that  comes  to 
the  human  heart — the  emotion  of  a  mother  when  she  thinks 
of  the  son  that  is  lost  to  her — the  old  lady  did  not  hear. 

"  I  remember  that  his  grandfather — it  was  in  the  early 
days  of  the  civil  war,  I  think —  He  had  done  something 
against  his  General,  I  suppose " 

She  had  been  speaking  for  some  moments  when  Fatimah, 
who  was  standing  behind,  reached  round  to  her  ear  and 
said : 

"His  lordship  has  gone,  my  lady,"  and  then  there  was 
a  sudden  and  deep  silence. 

The  molten  gold  died  out  of  the  river  and  the  sky,  and 
in  the  luminous  blue  twilight  the  old  lady  got  into  bed. 

"  Fatimah,"  she  said,  "  do  you  think  Doctor  would  allow 
me  to  go  up  to  the  Citadel  one  day  this  week?" 


180  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Why  not,  if  the  carriage  were  closed  and  the  blinds 
down  ? " 

"  And,  Fatimah  ?  " 

"  What  is  it,  oh,  my  heart  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  think  the  Consul-General  meant  when  he 
said  Helena  frip^htened  him?" 

"  I  think  he  meant  that  she's  one  of  the  girls  who  do 
things  when  they're  in  trouble — drown  themselves,  take 
poison  or  something." 

"  My  poor  Helena !     My  poor  Gordon !  " 

There  was  the  rustling  whisper  of  a  prayer  at  the  pillow, 
and  then,  for  the  weary  and  careworn  old  lady,  another 
day  slid  into  another  night. 


VIII 

Meantime  Gordon,  with  a  heart  filled  with  darkness,  sat 
huddled  up  on  his  bed  in  the  little  guest-room  of  the  Coptic 
Cathedral.  On  a  table  at  his  left  a  small  green-shaded  lamp 
was  burning,  and  on  a  chair  at  his  right  sat  the  saintly  old 
Patriarch,  gently  patting  his  bare  arm  and  trying  in  vain 
to  comfort  him. 

"  Yes,  God  is  merciful,  my  son,  and  it  is  just  because 
we  are  such  guilty  creatures  that  our  Lord  came  to  de- 
liver us." 

"  But  you  don't  know,  father,  you  don't  know,"  said 
Gordon. 

"  Know  what,  my  son  ?  " 

"  You  don't  know  w-hat  reason  I  have  to  reproach  my- 
self," said  Gordon;  and  then,  catching  by  the  sure  instinct 
of  a  pure  heart  some  vague  sense  of  Gordon's  position,  the 
old  man  began  to  talk  of  confession,  wherein  the  soul  of 
man  lays  down  its  sins  before  God  and  begins  to  feel  as  if 
it  had  wings. 

"  On  receiving  the  penitent's  confession,"  he  said,  "  it 
is  the  duty  of  the  Coptic  priest  to  take  his  sin  upon  him- 
self just  as  if  it  were  his  own,  and  if  T,  my  son " 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  181 

"  But  you  can't  I  It's  impossible !  God  forbid  it,"  said 
Gordon,  and  then  the  saintly  old  soul,  allowing  that  there 
were  sacred  places  in  the  heart  of  man  which  only  God's 
eye  should  see,  spoke  of  atonement,  whereby  he  that  is 
guilty  of  any  sin  may  begin  his  journey  toward  repentance, 
and  be  numbered  at  last,  if  his  penitence  be  true,  among 
the  living  who  live  in  God's  peace. 

"  Why  should  any  of  us,  my  son,  no  matter  how  foul 
the  stain  of  sin  we  have  contracted,  live  in  the  dread  of 
miscarrying  for  ever  while  we  have  energy  to  atone  ?  "  said 
the  good  old  man  in  his  worn  and  husky  voice,  and  then 
the  tides  of  Gordon's  troubled  mind,  which  had  ebbed  and 
flowed  like  the  sea  on  a  desolate  shore  under  the  blank  dark- 
ness of  a  starless  night,  seemed  to  be  suddenly  brightened 
by  a  light  from  the  morning. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  could  you  send  for  somebody  ? " 

"  Indeed  I  could — who  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  Patriarch. 

"  Captain  Hafiz  Ali  of  the  Egyptian  Army.  He  can  be 
found  at  headquarters.  Say  that  some  one  he  knows  well 
wishes  to  see  him  at  once." 

"  I'll  tell  Michael  to  take  the  message  immediately,"  said 
the  Patriarch,  and  his  shuffling  old  feet  went  off  on  his 
errand. 

The  new  light  that  had  dawned  on  Gordon's  mind  was 
the  same  as  he  had  seen  before  and  yet  it  was  now  quite 
different.  He  would  deliver  himself  up,  as  he  had  first  in- 
tended to  do,  but  in  humility,  not  in  pride,  in  submission 
to  the  will  of  God,  not  defiance  of  the  power  of  man.  A 
reclaiming  voice  seemed  to  say  to  him :  "  Atone  for  your 
crime!  Confess  everything!  Die — on  the  gallows  if  need 
be!  Better  suffer  the  pains  of  death  than  the  furies  of 
remorse!  Give  your  own  life  for  the  life  you  have  taken, 
no  matter  by  what  impulse  of  self-defence  or  devilish  acci- 
dent of  fate !  " 

Hafiz  would  carry  his  message  to  headquarters,  or  per- 
haps help  him  to  go  there,  and  the  good  old  Patriarch  would 
explain  why  he  had  not  gone  before. 

"  It  is  the  only  way  now.  the  only  hope,"  he  thought. 

Within  half  an  hour  Hafiz  arrived  hot  and  breathless,  as 


182  THE    \YHITE    PROPHET 

if  he  had  been  nnminpr.  One  moment  he  stood  near  the 
door,  "while  his  lip  lagged  low  and  his  cheerful  face  dark- 
ened at  sight  of  Gordon's  white  cheeks,  and  then  he  gushed 
out  into  words  which  tried  their  best  to  be  brave  but  were 
tragic  with  tears. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said,  "  I've  said  so  all  day  long.  '  He's 
lying  ill  somewhere  or  he  would  show  up  now  whatever  the 
consequences.'     You're  wounded,  aren't  you  ?     Let  me  see." 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  Gordon.  "  Xothing  at  all.  Sit 
down,  old  fellow." 

And  then  Hafiz  sat  on  the  right  of  the  bed,  holding  Gor- 
don's hand  in  his  hand,  and  told  him  what  had  happened 
during  the  day — how  Macdonald  and  his  bloodhounds  had 
been  out  in  pursuit  of  him,  expecting-  to  arrest  and  court- 
martial  him,  and  how  he  also  had  been  searching  for  him 
since  yesterday,  but  with  the  hope  of  helping  him  to  escape. 

"  High  and  low  we've  looked  everywhere — everywhere 
except  here — and  who  would  have  thought  of  a  place  like 
this  ? "  said  Hafiz.  "  So  much  the  better,  though !  You'll 
stay  here  until  you  are  well  and  I  can  get  you  safely  away. 
I  will,  too!    You'll  see  I  will !  " 

It  was  hard  to  listen  to  the  good  fellow's  schemes  for 
his  escape  and  tell  him  at  once  of  his  intention  to  give 
himself  up,  so  Gordon  asked  one  by  one  the  questions  that 
were  uppermost  in  his  mind,  little  thinking  that  Hafiz's 
answers  would  break  up  his  purpose  and  stifle  for  ever  the 
cry  of  the  voice  of  his  tortured  heart. 

"The  General  is  buried,  isn't  he?"  he  said,  turning  his 
face  away  as  he  spoke,  and  when  Hafiz  answered  "  Yes,"  that 
he  had  died  by  the  hand  of  God  and  been  buried  that  after- 
noon, and  that  ever;\'body  was  saying  that  he  had  been  a 
good  man  and  a  great  soldier  and  Egypt  would  never  again 
see  his  equal,  Gordon  asked  himself  what  after  all  would 
be  the  worth  of  an  atonement  which  offered  as  an  equivalent 
for  a  life  like  the  General's  a  life  such  as  his  own,  which 
was  no  longer  of  any  use  to  him  or  to  any  one. 

And  again,  when  he  asked,  in  a  voice  that  was  breath- 
less with  fear,  how  his  father  was,  and  Hafiz  answered  that 
the  iron  man  whose  name  had  been  a  terror  in  Egypt  for 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  183 

SO  many  years,  though  calm  on  the  outside  still,  was  break- 
ing up  like  a  frozen  lake  from  below;  that  he  had  been  call- 
ing him  over  the  telephone  all  day  long,  and  entreating  him 
to  find  his  son  that  he  might  tell  him  to  deliver  himself  up 
immediately,  in  spite  of  everything,  lest  he  should  be 
charged  with  desertion  and  be  liable  to  death,  Gordon  sick- 
ened with  a  sense  of  the  shame  into  which  he  was  about  to 
plunge  his  father  in  his  last  days  by  the  confession  he  in- 
tended to  make  and  the  fate  he  meant  to  meet. 

And  again,  when  with  deepening  emotion  he  asked  about 
his  mother — was  she  worse  for  the  disgrace  that  had  over- 
taken himself  ? — and  Hafiz  told  him  "  ISTo,"  that  though  sit- 
ting in  a  sort  of  bewilderment,  waiting  for  God's  light  in  the 
darkness  that  had  fallen  on  her  life,  she  was  yet  living  in 
a  beautiful,  blind  hope  that  he  would  come  back  to  justify 
himself,  and  meantime  sending  messages  to  him  saying, 
"  Tell  him  his  mother  is  sure  he  only  did  what  he  believed 
to  be  right,  because  her  boy  could  not  do  what  was  wrong," 
Gordon's  heart  knocked  hard  at  his  breast  with  the  thought 
that  the  brave  atonement  to  which  he  had  set  his  face  would 
surely  kill  his  mother  before  it  had  time  to  kill  him. 

And  when,  last  of  all,  in  the  sore  pain  of  a  wounded 
tenderness,  he  asked  about  Helena — was  she  well  and  was 
she  asking  after  him  ? — and  Hafiz  again  answered  "  No,"  but 
that  he  had  seen  her  at  the  General's  funeral  (where  he 
could  not  trust  himself  to  speak  to  her  for  pity  of  the  dumb 
trouble  in  her  pale  face),  and  that,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
the  Consul-General,  she  had  lifted  her  tearless  eyes  as  if 
looking  for  somebody  she  could  not  see,  and  that  she  was 
to  go  back  to  England  soon,  very  soon,  on  Saturday,  with- 
out any  one  for  company,  being  alone  in  the  world  now, 
then  Gordon  broke  down  altogether,  for  he  saw  himself  fol- 
lowing her  on  her  lonely  journey  home  with  a  cruel  and 
needless  blow  that  would  ruin  the  little  that  was  left  of  her 
peace. 

"On  Saturday,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  by  the  English  steamer  from  Alexandria,"  said 
Hafiz,  and  then,  eagerly,  as  if  by  a  sudden  thought, 
"Gordon?" 


184  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  W^hy  shouldn't  you  go  with  her  ? " 

Gordon  shook  his  head. 

"  But  why  ?  You'll  be  better  by  that  time,  and  even  if 
you're  not —  You  can't  stay  here  for  ever,  and  if  you  should 
fall  into  Maedonald's  hands —  Besides,  it's  better  in  any 
case  to  let  the  War  Office  deal  with  you.  They'll  know 
everything  before  you  reach  London  and  they'll  see  you've 
been  in  the  right.  You'll  get  justice  there,  Gordon,  Avhereas 
here —  Then  there's  Helena,  too — she's  expecting  you  to 
join  her — I'm  sure  she  is — why  shouldn't  she,  being  friend- 
less in  Egypt  now  and  without  any  one  to  go  to  even  at 
home?  And  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  and  you  have 
to  leave  the  Army,  which  God  forbid,  you'll  be  together  at  all 
events — she'll  be  with  you,  anyway " 

"  No,  no,  my  boy,  no,"  cried  Gordon,  but  Hafiz,  full  of 
his  new  hope,  was  not  to  be  denied. 

"You  think  it's  impossible,  but  it  isn't.  Wallahi!  Leave 
it  to  me.  I'll  arrange  everything.  Trust  me,"  he  said,  and 
in  the  warmth  of  his  new  resolve  and  the  urgency  of  another 
errand,  he  got  up  to  go. 

The  hundred  and  fifty  Notables  who  had  been  arrested 
that  morning  before  the  Grand  Cadi's  house  had  been  tried 
in  the  afternoon  by  a  Special  Tribunal,  and  despatched  in 
the  evening  as  dangerous  rebels  to  the  penal  settlement  in 
the  Soudan.  In  protest  against  this  injustice  as  well  as 
in  lamentation  for  the  loss  of  the  students  who  had  fallen 
at  El  Azhar,  Ishmael  Ameer  had  called  upon  the  people  of 
Cairo  to  follow  him  in  procession  to  the  Arabic  cemetery 
outside  the  city,  that  there,  Avithout  violence  or  offence,  they 
might  appeal  from  the  barbarity  of  man  to  the  judgment 
seat  of  God. 

"They've  gone  with  him,  too,"  said  Hafiz,  "tens  of 
thousands  of  them,  so  that  the  streets  are  deserted  and  half 
the  shops  shut  up.  Oh,  they've  not  done  with  Ishmael  yet 
— you'll  see  they  have  not !  I  must  find  out  what  he's  doing, 
though,  and  come  back  and  tell  you  what's  going  on.  Mean- 
time I'll  say  nothing  about  you — about  knowing  where  you 
are,  I  mean — nothing  to  the  Consul-General,  nothing  to  my 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  185 

mother,  nothing  to  anybody.  Good-bye,  old  fellow!  Leave 
youi'self  to  mc.     I'll  see  you  throus-h." 

When  Hafiz  went  off  with  a  rush  of  spirits,  Gordon,  being 
left  alone,  sank  to  a  still  deeper  depression  than  before.  He 
felt  as  if  he  were  thrown  back  again  on  that  desolate  shore 
where  the  tides  of  his  mind  ebbed  and  flowed  under  the 
blank  darkness  of  a  starless  sky. 

The  proud  atonement  whereby  he  had  expected  to  wipe 
out  his  crime  had  fallen  utterly  to  ashes.  It  looked  like 
nothing  better  now  than  a  selfish  impulse  to  escape  from  a 
life  that  had  become  a  burden  to  him  by  killing  his  father's 
honour,  his  mother's  trust,  and  the  last  hope  of  Helena's 
happiness. 

"  No,  I  cannot  deliver  myself  up.  It  is  impossible,"  he 
thought. 

But  if  death  itself  was  denied  to  him  what  was  there  left 
to  him  in  life?  His  career  as  a  soldier  was  clearly  at  an  end. 
his  father's  house  was  for  ever  closed  to  him,  and  his  days 
with  Helena  were  over.  Without  work,  without  home,  with- 
out love,  what  could  he  do,  where  could  he  go? 

"  Then,  what  can  I  do  ?  Where  can  I  go  ?  "  he  asked 
himself. 

Suddenly  he  remembered  what  the  General  had  said  in 
that  delirious  moment  when  with  bitter  taunts  he  had  told 
him  to  fly  to  some  foreign  country  where  men  would  know 
nothing  of  his  disgrace.  Cruel  and  unjust  as  that  sentence 
had  seemed  to  him  then,  it  appeared  to  be  all  that  was  left 
to  him  now,  when  work  and  home  and  love  alike  were  gone 
from  him. 

"  Yes,  I'll  go  away,"  he  thought,  with  a  choking  sob. 
*'  I'll  bury  myself  as  far  from  humanity  as  possible." 

Yet  at  the  next  moment  the  hand  of  iron  was  on  his  heart 
again,  and  he  told  himself  that  though  he  might  fly  from  the 
sight  of  man  he  could  not  escape  from  the  eye  of  God,  and 
to  be  alone  with  that  was  more  than  a  guilty  man  could  bear 
and  live. 

"  But  why  can't  I  go  to  America  ?  "  he  asked  himself. 

It  was  his  mother's  home  and  a  country  to  which  some- 
thing in  his  blood  had  always  been  calling  him.     But  no! 


186  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

That  refuge  also  was  denied  to  him,  for  though  he  might 
hide  in  New  York  or  Boston  or  Philadelphia  or  Chicago  or 
San  Francisco,  better  than  in  the  trackless  desert  itself,  yet 
in  the  very  pulse  of  life  he  Avould  still  be  alone,  with  a  mind 
that  must  always  be  rambling  through  the  ways  of  the  past, 
seeing  nothing  in  the  happiness  of  other  men  but  cruel 
visions  of  what  might  have  come  to  him  also,  but  for  one 
blind  moment  of  headstrong  passion. 

"Is  life,  then,  to  be  utterly  closed  to  me?"  he  thought. 

Was  he  neither  to  die  for  his  crime  nor  live  for  his 
repentance?    Had  God  Almighty  set  His  face  against  both? 

He  thought  of  Helena  as  she  would  be  in  England,  alone 
like  himself,  cut  off  for  the  rest  of  her  life  from  every  hap- 
piness except  the  bitter  one  of  her  memory  of  their  few 
short  days  together,  thinking  ill  of  him  as  she  needs  must 
for  leaving  her  in  her  sore  need,  while  all  the  time  his  heart 
was  yearning  for  love  of  her,  and  he  would  have  given  his 
soul  to  be  by  her  side,  but  for  the  barrier  of  blood  which 
seemed  to  separate  them  for  ever  now. 

And  then  in  the  bitterness  of  his  remorse  and  the  depths 
of  his  abased  penitence,  thinking  the  Almighty  Himself  must 
be  against  him,  he  began  to  pray — never  having  prayed 
since  the  days  when  his  mother  held  him  at  her  knee. 

"  O  God,  have  pity  upon  me!  "  he  cried,  as  he  sat  huddled 
up  on  his  bed.  "  I  only  intended  to  do  what  was  right,  yet 
I  have  plunged  everybody  I  love  into  trouble.  What  can  I 
do?  W^here  can  I  go?  Let  it  be  anything  and  anywhere! 
O  Lord,  speak  to  me,  lead  me,  deliver  me,  tell  me  what  I 
ought  to  do,  tell  me,  tell  me !  " 

The  green-shaded  lamp  on  the  table  had  gone  out  by  this 
time,  the  darkness  of  the  night  had  gone  and  a  dim  gleam 
of  saffron-tinted  light  from  the  dawn  had  begun  to  filter 
through  the  yellow  window  curtains  of  the  room. 

Then  suddenly  the  silence  of  the  little  pulseless  place  was 
broken  by  the  sound  of  eager  footsteps  running  over  the 
gravel  path  of  the  courtyard  and  leaping  up  the  stone  stair- 
case of  the  house. 

It  was  Hafiz  returning  from  the  cemetery. 


THE   SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  187 


IX 

The  Mohammedan  cemetery  of  Cairo  lies  to  the  north- 
east of  the  city,  outside  the  Bab  en-Xasr  (the  Gate  of 
Victory),  on  the  fringe  of  the  desert  and  down  a  dusty  road 
that  leads  to  a  group  of  tomb-mosques  of  the  Caliphs,  now 
old  and  falling  into  decay. 

No  more  forlorn  and  desolate  spot  ever  lay  under  the 
zealous  blue  of  the  sky.  Xot  a  tree,  not  a  blade  of  grass,  not 
a  rill  of  water,  not  a  bird  singing  in  the  empty  air.  Only 
an  arid  waste,  dotted  over  by  an  irregular  encampment  of 
the  narrow  mansions  of  the  dead,  the  round  hummocks  of 
blistered  clay,  each  with  its  upright  stone,  its  shahed 
capped  with  turban  or  tarboosh.  The  barren  nakedness  and 
savage  aridity  of  the  place  make  it  a  melancholy  spectacle  by 
day,  but  in  the  silence  of  night,  under  the  moon's  quiet  eye, 
or  with  the  darkness  flushed  by  the  white  light  of  the  stars, 
the  wild  desolation  of  the  city  of  the  dead  is  an  awesome 
sight  to  see.  Such  was  the  spot  in  which  the  people  of 
Cairo  had  concluded  to  pass  their  Xight  of  Lamentation — 
such  was  their  Gethsemane. 

When  tidings  of  their  intention  passed  through  the  town 
there  were  rumblings  of  thunder  in  the  ever-lowering  diplo- 
matic atmosphere.  The  Consul-General  heard  it  and  sent 
for  the  Commandant  of  Police. 

"  This  gathering  of  great  numbers  of  natives  outside  the 
walls,"  he  said,  "  looks  like  a  ruse  for  an  organised  attack 
on  the  European  inhabitants.  Therefore  let  your  plans  for 
their  protection  be  put  into  operation  without  delay.  As 
the  ostensible  object  of  the  demonstration  is  a  funeral,  you 
cannot  stop  it,  but  see  that  a  sufficient  body  of  police  goes 
with  it  and  that  your  entire  force  is  in  readiness." 

After  that  he  called  up  the  officer  who  was  now  in  com- 
mand of  the  Army  of  Occupation,  and  advised  that  troops 
at  Kasr  el  Nil,  at  the  Citadel,  and  particularly  at  the  bar- 
racks of  Abbassiah  should  be  strictly  confined  and  kept  in 
readiness  for  all  emergencies. 

"  If  all  goes  well  to-night,"  he  said,  "  give  your  men  an 


188  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

airing  in  the  streets  in  the  morning.  Let  their  bands  go 
with  them,  so  that  when  the  turbulent  gentlemen  who  are 
organising  all  this  hubbub  take  their  walks  abroad  they 
may  meet  one  of  your  companies  coming  along.  If  they 
turn  aside  to  avoid  it  let  them  meet  another  and  another. 
— And  wait ! "  said  the  old  man,  while  his  brow  con- 
tracted and  his  lip  stiffened.  "  The  man  Ishmael  Ameer 
has  escaped  us  thus  far.  He  has  been  lying  low  and  allow- 
ing others  to  get  into  trouble.  But  he  seems  to  be  putting 
his  head  into  the  noose  this  time.  Follow  him,  watch  him; 
don't  be  afraid.'' 

The  bodies  of  the  students  who  were  to  be  buried  that 
night  had  been  lying  in  the  mosque  of  the  Sultan  Hasan 
at  the  foot  of  the  Citadel,  and  as  soon  as  word  came  that 
the  Imams  had  recited  the  prayer  for  the  dead,  asking, 
"  Give  your  testimony  respecting  them — were  they  faith- 
ful?" and  being  answered,  "Aye,  faithful  unto  death,"  the 
cortege  started. 

First  a  group  of  blind  men  at  slow  pace  chanting  the 
first  Surah  of  the  Koran ;  then  the  biers,  a  melancholy  line  of 
them,  covered  with  red  and  green  cloths  and  borne  head 
foremost ;  then  schoolboys  singing,  in  shrill  voices,  passages 
from  a  poem  describing  the  last  judgment;  then  companies 
of  Fikees,  reciting  the  profession  of  faith;  then  the  female 
relatives  of  the  dead,  shrouded  black  forms  Avith  dishevelled 
hair,  sitting  in  carriages  or  squatting  on  carts,  wailing  in 
their  woe,  and  finally,  Ishmael  Ameer  himself  and  his  vast 
and  various  following. 

Never  had  any  one  seen  so  great  a  concourse,  not  even 
on  the  day  when  the  sacred  carpet  came  from  Mecca.  There 
were  men  and  women,  rich  and  poor,  great  and  small,  re- 
ligious fraternities  with  half-furled  banners  and  dervishes 
with  wrapped-up  flags.  Sheikhs  in  robes  and  beggars  in  rags. 
Boys  carried  lamps,  women  carried  candles,  and  young  men 
carried  torches  and  open  flares  which  sent  coils  of  smoke 
into  the  windless  air. 

Their  way  lay  down  the  broad  boulevard  of  Mohammed 
Ali,  across  the  wide  square  of  the  Bab-el-Khalk,  past  the 
Govemorat  and  the  Police  Headquarters.     As  they  walked 


To  God  we  belong  and  to  llini  wc  in\ist  return 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  189 

at  slow  pace  they  chanted  the  Surah  which  says :  "  O  Allah ! 
There  is  no  strength  nor  power  but  in  God!  To  God  we 
belong  and  to  him  we  must  return !  "  The  shops  were  shut, 
and  the  muezzin  called  from  the  minarets  as  the  procession 
went  by  the  mosques. 

Thus  like  a  long  sinuous  stream,  sometimes  flowing  deep 
and  still,  sometimes  rumbling  in  low  tones,  sometimes 
breaking  into  sharp  sounds,  they  passed  through  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  city  and  out  by  the  Bab  en-Nasr  to  the 
Mohammedan  cemetery  beyond  the  walls. 

As  Hafiz  approached  this  place  the  deep  multitudinous 
hum  of  many  tongues  that  came  up  from  it  was  like  the 
loud  sighing  of  the  wind.  Calm  as  the  night  was  it  was 
the  same  as  if  a  storm  had  broken  over  that  spot,  while  the 
desert  around  lay  sleeping  under  the  unclouded  moon. 
Through  a  thick  haze  that  floated  over  the  ground  there 
were  bubbles  and  flashes  of  light,  the  red  and  white  flames 
of  the  lamps  and  torches  spurting  and  steaming  like  electrical 
apparitions  from  a  cauldron. 

A  cordon  of  mounted  police  surrounded  the  cemetery, 
and  a  few  were  riding  inside  of  it.  The  funerals  were  over, 
and  the  people  were  squatting  in  groups  on  the  bare  sand. 
Hafiz  could  hear  the  solemn  chanting  of  the  Fikees  as  they 
passed  their  beads  through  their  fingers  and  recited  to  the 
spirits  of  the  dead.  Some  of  the  dervishes  were  dancing 
and  some  of  the  women  were  swaying  their  bodies  to  a  slow, 
monotonous,  hypnotic  movement  that  seemed  to  act  on 
them  like  a  drug. 

A  number  of  the  Ulema,  professors  of  El  Azhar  and 
teachers  of  the  Koran,  were  passing  from  group  to  group, 
comforting  and  counselling  the  people.  Behind  each  of 
them  was  a  little  crowd  of  followers,  and  where  the  crowd 
of  such  followers  was  greatest  there  always  was  the  erect 
white  figure  and  pale  face  of  Ishmael  Ameer.  He  stood  in 
his  gTeat  stature  above  the  heads  of  the  tallest  of  the  men 
about  him,  and  as  he  passed  from  company  to  company  he 
left  hope  and  inspiration  behind  him,  for  his  lips  seemed 
to  be  touched  with  fire. 

"  Night  has  fallen  on  us.  oh,  my  brothers !  "  he  said  in 


190  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

his  throbbing  voice.  "  Our  path  is  desolate,  we  are  encom- 
passed by  sorrows,  we  envj-  the  dead  who  are  in  their  graves. 
Oh,  ye  people  of  the  tombs,  you  have  passed  on  before  us. 
Peace  be  to  you !  Peace  be  to  us  also !  A  woman  is  here 
who  has  lost  her  husband — the  camel  of  her  house  is  gone! 
A  mother  is  here  who  has  lost  her  son — the  eye  of  her  heart 
is  blind !  Oh,  Thou  most  merciful  of  those  that  show  mercy, 
comfort  and  keep  them  and  send  them  safely  to  thy  Para- 
dise! Sleep,  oh,  servants  of  God,  in  the  arms  of  the 
Mighty  and  Compassionate !  " 

"Poor  me,  poor  my  children,  poor  all  the  people!"  cried 
the  women  who  crouched  at  his  feet. 

"  Oppressors  have  risen  against  us,  0  God !  but  let  us 
not  cry  to  Thee  for  vengeance  against  them.  They  are 
Christians  and  it  was  a  Christian  who  said:  'Father,  for- 
give them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do.' " 

"  La  ilaha  illa-llah !  "  cried  the  men,  but  their  faces  were 
dark  and  stern. 

"  Oh,  sons  of  Adam,"  cried  Ishmael,  "  shall  the  children 
of  one  Father  fight  before  His  face?  To-night  the  lamps 
are  lit  to  the  Lord  on  the  rock  at  Mecca.  To-night,  too, 
the  lamps  are  burning  to  God  on  the  Calvary  at  Jerusalem. 
So  it  has  been  for  a  thousand  years.  So  it  will  be  for  a 
thousand  more.  Father,  forgive  them  for  they  know  not 
what  they  do." 

At  that  a  great  shout  went  up  from  the  clamorous  billow 
of  human  beings  about  him,  and  "  Oh,  children  of  Allah," 
he  cried,  "  religion  is  the  bread  of  our  souls,  and  the  stran- 
gers who  have  come  to  us  from  the  West  are  trj'ing  to  take 
it  away.  Let  us  fight  to  preserve  it !  Let  us  draw  the  sword 
of  our  spirit  against  a  black  devouring  world !  By  the  life 
of  our  God,  let  iis  be  men !  By  the  tombs  of  our  fathers,  let 
us  be  living  souls!  By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet — praise  to 
his  name! — let  us  no  longer  be  mere  machines  for  the 
making  of  gold  for  Europe!  Better  the  mud  hut  of  the 
fellah  with  the  spirit  of  God  within  than  the  palace  of  the 
rich  man  with  the  devil's  arms  on  the  doorpost.  If  we 
cannot  be  free  in  the  city,  let  us  go  out  to  the  desert — out 
from  the  empire  of  man  to  the  empire  of  Allah!     And  if 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  191 

we  must  leave  behind  our  gorgeous  mosques,  built  on  the 
bones  of  slaves  and  cemented  with  the  blood  of  conquest, 
we  shall  worship  in  a  vaster  and  more  magnificent  temple, 
the  dome  whereof  is  the  sky." 

By  this  time  the  excitement  of  the  people  amounted  to 
frenzy.  "  Allah !  "  "  Allah !  "  they  shouted  as  they  followed 
Ishmael  from  group  to  group  in  an  ever-increasing  crowd 
that  was  like  a  boiling,  surging,  rushing  river,  flashing  in 
fierce  brilliance  under  the  light  of  the  lamps  and  torches. 

"  Brothers,"  said  Ishmael  ag'ain,  "  your  homes  are  here, 
and  your  wives  and  children.  I  am  going  out  into  the  des- 
ert and  you  cannot  all  follow  me.  But  give  me  one  hundred 
men  and  your  enemies  will  afflict  you  no  more.  One  hun- 
dred men  to  carry  into  every  town  and  village  the  word  of 
the  message  of  God,  and  the  reign  of  Mammon  will  be  at 
an  end.  Our  Prophet — praise  to  his  name ! — was  driven  out 
of  Mecca  as  a  slave,  but  he  returned  to  it  as  a  conqueror. 
We  are  driven  out  of  Cairo  in  disgrace,  but  we  shall  come 
back  in  glory.  So  the  years  pass  and  repeat  themselves," 
he  cried,  and  then,  in  triumphant  tone,  "  Yes,  by  Allah !  " 

The  emotional  Egyptian  people  were  now  like  children 
possessed,  and  the  fever  in  Ishmael's  own  face  seemed  to 
have  consumed  the  natural  man. 

"  I  ask  for  martyrs,  not  for  soldiers,"  he  cried.  "  Shall 
not  the  reward  of  him  who  suffers  daily  for  his  brethren's 
sake  be  equal  to  that  of  the  man  who  dies  in  battle?  I  ask 
for  the  young  man  and  the  strong,  not  the  weak  and  the 
old.  Difficulty  is  before  us,  and  danger,  and  perhaps  death. 
I  ask  for  sinners,  not  saints.  Though  you  are  as  pure  as  the 
sands  of  the  seashore,  like  the  sands  of  the  shore  you  may 
be  fruitless.  But  are  you  sin-laden  and  suffering?  Do  the 
ways  of  life  seem  to  be  closed  to  you?  Does  the  sweet  light 
of  morning  bring  you  no  joy?  Are  you  praying  for  the 
darkness  of  death  to  cover  you?  Is  your  repentance  deep? 
In  the  bitterness  of  your  soul  are  you  calling  upon  God  for 
a  way  of  redemption?  Then  come  to  me,  my  brothers! 
Your  purification  is  here!  A  pilgrimage  is  before  you  that 
will  cleanse  you  of  all  sin." 

"  Allah!  "  "  Allah!  "  "  Allah!  "  cried  the  people  with  one 


192  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

voice,  and  the  cry  of  their  thousand  throats  in  that  desolate 
place  was  like  the  quake  of  breakers  on  cavernous  rocks. 

It  was  one  of  those  moments  of  life  when  by  a  spon- 
taneous impulse  humanity  shows  how  divine  is  the  heart 
of  man.  In  an  instant  more  than  five  hundred  men,  some 
of  them  looked  upon  as  low  and  base,  leaped  out  in  answer 
to  IshmacFs  call  and  were  struggling,  quarrelling,  almost 
fighting  to  go  with  him. 

For  two  hours  thereafter  the  professors  and  teachers 
were  busy  selecting  one  hundred  from  the  five,  telling  them 
what  they  had  to  do  and  where  they  had  to  go,  each  man 
to  his  allotted  place,  while  the  mounted  police  rode  round 
and  through  them  in  a  vain  effort  to  find  out  what  was  being 
said. 

The  night  was  now  laear  to  morning,  the  lamps  and 
torches  were  dying  out,  and  a  dun  streak,  like  an  arrow's 
barb,  was  shooting  up  into  the  darkness  of  the  sky.  In  this 
vague  fore-dawn  the  hundred  chosen  men  were  drawn  up 
before  the  tomb  of  a  sheikh,  and  Ishmael,  standing  on  the 
dome  of  it,  with  his  tall  figure  against  the  uncertain  light, 
spoke  to  them  and  to  the  vast  company  of  the  people  that 
had  gathered  about. 

"  Brothers,"  he  said,  "  you  offer  yourselves  as  messengers 
of  the  Compassionate  to  carry  His  word  to  the  uttermost 
ends  of  this  country  and  as  far  as  the  tongue  you  speak  is 
spoken.  You  have  been  told  what  to  say  and  you  will  say 
it  without  fear.  You  are  no  rebels  against  the  State,  but 
if  the  commandments  of  the  Government  are  against  the 
commandments  of  God,  you  are  to  tell  the  people  to  obey 
God  and  not  the  Government." 

At  that  word  the  sea  of  faces  seemed  to  flash  white  under 
the  heaviness  of  the  sky,  but  Ishmael  only  looked  down  at 
the  hundred  men  who  stood  below  and  said  calmly: 

"  You  are  soldiers  of  God,  therefore  you  will  carry  no 
weapons  of  the  devil  with  you  on  your  journey.  Do  you 
expect  to  conquer  by  the  sword?  Stand  back,  this  pil- 
grimage is  not  yours !  Do  you  wish  to  drive  the  English 
out  of  Egy-pt,  to  establish  Khedive  or  Sultan,  to  found 
Kingdom   or   Empire?     Go   home!      This  work   is   not   for 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  193 

you !  Only  one  enemy  will  you  drive  out  and  that  is  the 
devil !  Only  one  Sultan  will  you  establish  and  that  is 
God!" 

The  mass  of  moving  heads  seemed  to  sway  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  amid  the  deep  breathing  of  the  people 
Ishmael  said : 

"  You  will  take  nothing  with  you  on  your  way,  neither 
purse  nor  scrip  nor  second  coat.  In  the  city  or  the  village 
or  the  desert  the  Merciful  will  make  your  beds,  the  Com- 
passionate will  provide  for  you.  Where  the  Muslemeeh  is, 
there  is  your  brother — greet  him,  he  will  welcome  you. 
Where  his  house  is  there  is  your  home — enter  it,  it  will 
shelter  you.  But  you  are  slaves  of  God,  therefore  look  for 
no  ease  and  comfort.  Burning  heat  by  day,  w-eary  marches 
by  night,  hunger  and  thirst,  and  toil  and  pain — these  only 
are  the  allurements  God  offers  to  his  servants — these  and 
glory!" 

At  that  last  word  a  loud  shout  broke  from  the  people, 
but  when  Ishmael  spoke  again  the  burden  of  a  great  awe 
seemed  to   fall  upon   them. 

"  Say  farewell  to  one  another  and  to  your  wives  and 
children.  If  God  wills  it  you  will  come  back.  If  He  does 
not  will  it  you  will  go  on,  never  more  to  look  in  each  other's 
faces." 

Then  in  a  louder,  shriller  voice  than  before,  he  cried : 

"  But  fear  nothing !  The  battle  is  not  yours  but  God's ! 
You  will  be  purified  by  your  pilgrimage,  your  sins  will  be 
forgiven  you,  and  when  death  comes  that  stands  at  the 
foot  of  life's  account,  Paradise  will  wait  for  you  and  the 
arms  of  the  Merciful  be  open !  In  the  name  of  the  Com- 
passionate, Peace !  " 

"Peace!  Peace!"  cried  the  vast  mass  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  ring  through  the  empty  dome  of  the  sky. 

The  men  who  had  been  standing  before  Ishmael  now 
prostrated  themselves  with  their  faces  to  the  east,  and  then 
rising  to  their  feet  they  embraced  each  other.  A  subdued 
murmur  passed  thi'ough  the  people,  and  at  the  next  moment 
the  crowd  parted  in  many  places,  leaving  long,  wide  ways 
that  went  out  from  the  foot  of  the  tomb.    Down  these  paths 


194  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

the  men  passed  in  twos  and  threes  as  if  going  in  different 
directions,  some  north,  some  south,  some  east,  some  west. 

Thus  the  hundred  messengers  set  out  on  their  pilgrim- 
age, each  his  own  way  and  none  knowing  if  they  should 
ever  meet  again.  Though  the  eager,  emotional  Egyptian 
people  were  ready  to  sob  at  sight  of  them,  yet  they  kept 
back  their  cries.  Some  of  the  women  held  out  their  children 
to  be  kissed  by  their  husbands  as  they  passed,  but  they  dried 
their  own  eyes  lest  the  men  should  see  them  weep. 

The  dawn  was  coming  up  by  this  time  in  a  thin  streak 
of  pink  across  the'  eastern  sky,  and  the  people  watched  the 
men  as  they  passed  away — beyond  the  ruined  tombs  of  the 
Caliphs,  toward  the  barracks  of  the  soldiers  at  Abbassiah 
and  over  the  reddening  crest  of  the  Mokattam  hills — until 
they  could  be  seen  no  more. 

Then  slowly  as  the  great  mass  of  the  crowd  had  opened, 
it  closed  again,  and  while  women  sobbed  and  men  broke 
down  in  tears,  the  tall  figure  of  Ishmael,  forgotten  for  a 
moment,  was  seen  standing  in  the  mystic  light  of  the  dawn 
above  the  multitude  of  moving  heads,  and  his  throbbing 
voice  was  heard  pealing  over  them. 

"  Oh,  children  of  God,"  he  cried,  "  be  comforted !  Go 
back  to  your  homes  and  wait!  Be  patient!  Is  not  that 
what  Islam  means?  Shed  no  tears  for  those  who  have  gone 
away  from  you.  As  sure  as  the  sun  will  rise  your  brethren 
will  return.  Look!  Already  it  is  gilding  the  fringes  of 
the  clouds;  it  is  sending  away  the  spirits  of  darkness;  it 
is  approaching  the  gates  of  morning!  Even  so  in  life  or  in 
death,  in  the  spirit  or  in  the  flesh  those  who  have  left  you 
will  return,  and  when  they  come  back  our  Egypt  will  be 
God's." 

With  that,  amid  an  answering  cry  from  the  people,  he 
stepped  down  from  the  tomb.  Tlieii  the  crowd  parted  as 
before  and  he  passed  through  them  toward  the  town  in  the 
direction  of  the  Bab  en-Xasr,  the  Gate  of  Victory.  There 
was  no  shouting  or  waving  of  banners  as  he  went  away,  but 
only  the  silent.  Eastern  greeting  of  hands  to  the  lips  and 
forehead,  with  hardly  a  noise  as  loud  as  the  sound  of  human 
breath. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  195 

The  sun  was  now  rising  above  the  yellow  Mokattam  hills, 
the  daj'  was  reddening  over  the  desert,  the  gleaming  streak 
of  the  Nile  was  shooting  out  of  the  mist,  and  in  the  radi- 
ance of  morning  the  crowd  began  to  break  up  and  return 
to  the  city.  Their  eyes  were  shining  with  a  new  light,  a 
new  joy,  a  new  hope.  They  had  come  out  to  mourn  and 
they  were  going  back  rejoicing. 

Hafiz  was  among  the  first  to  go.  With  a  mouth  full  of 
a  fresh  message  he  was  flying  back  to  Gordon.  As  he  passed 
through  the  echoing  streets  he  met  the  band  of  one  of  the 
British  battalions  and  it  was  playing  a  march  from  the 
latest  opera. 


Gordon,  lying  in  his  bed,  heard  the  voice  of  Hafiz  in 
the  hall. 

*'  Only  me,  Michael !     All  right !     Don't  get  up  yet." 

At  the  next  moment  Hafiz  himself,  pufiing  and  blowing, 
and  with  the  cool  air  of  morning  in  his  clothes,  came  dash- 
ing into  the  room. 

"  Halloa !  Thought  I  was  never  coming  back,  I  suppose  I 
Couldn't  tear  myself  away — had  to  see  it  through — only 
just  over.  Tell  you  what,  though — I  do  believe — yes,  I 
do  really  believe  that  brute  of  a  Macdonald  has  set  the 
trackers  on  to  you !  Coming  down  by  El  Azhar,  behold  two 
damned  blacks — Soudanese,  I  mean — poking  their  noses 
into  the  soft  ground  as  if  looking  for  footsteps.  But  no 
matter!     We'll  dish  the  devil  yet!" 

Thus  the  good  fellow,  after  the  night-long  flight  of  his 
spirit  among  sacred  things,  was  giving  way  to  the  natural 
man,  with  chuckles  and  crows  and  shouts  of  joy  and  even 
harmless  oaths  that  had  no  bitterness  behind  them. 

"  Lord  God,  you  should  have  seen  it,  Gordon.  Just  like 
one  of  the  *  Xights  of  the  Prophet,'  only  bigger — yes,  by 
my  soul,  bigger!  " 

Then,  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  he  described  the 
doings  of  the  night — how  Ishmael  had  passed  from  group  to 


196  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

group,  comforting  the  mourners  and  laying  a  soothing  hand 
on  every  mother's  sorrow,  evei-y  father's  grief. 

"  Can't  tell  what  the  deuce  it  is  in  the  man — ^whether 
it's  tlie  prophet  or  the  poet  or  the  diviner — but  he  doesn't 
need  that  anybody  should  tell  him  anything,  because  he 
knows." 

It  was  not  at  first  that  Gordon,  coming  out  of  the  long 
night  of  his  sufferings,  caught  the  contagion  of  Hafiz's  good 
spirits,  but  his  weary,  bloodshot  eyes  began  to  shine  when 
Hafiz  described  Ishmael's  appeal  to  the  people  to  leave 
everything  behind  them  and  go  with  him  into  the  desert — 
out  of  the  empire  of  man  into  the  empire  of  Allah. 

"  It  was  thrilling!  Wallahi!  You  had  to  hear  it,  though. 
It  was  not  so  n^nch  what  he  said  as  something  in  the  man 
himself  that  set  all  your  nervee  tingling." 

And  when  Hafiz  went  on  to  tell  of  Ishmael's  appeal 
for  help,  not  to  the  saints,  the  men  whom  God  had 
cleansed  from  all  sin,  the  souls  that  were  as  pure  as  the 
sands  of  the  seashore  and  as  fruitless,  but  to  the  sin- 
ners, the  sin-laden  and  sin-stained,  to  whom  the  peace  of 
life  and  the  repose  of  death  were  both  denied,  he  felt 
Gordon's  hand  clutching  at  his  own  and  his  whole  body 
quivering. 

"  Sinners,  not  saints — did  he  say  that,  Hafiz  ?  " 
"  Yes!  '  Come  to  me,  my  brothers,'  he  said.  '  Your  puri- 
fication is  here.  A  pilgrimage  is  before  you  that  will  cleanse 
you  from  all  sin.'  They  took  him  at  his  word,  too.  Good 
Lord!  You  never  saw  such  scrambling!  Such  a  crew! 
Sinners,  by  Jove !  Some  of  them  the  most  notorious  scoun- 
drels in  Cairo — rich  rascals  who  have  been  living  for  them- 
selves all  their  lives  and  beggaring  everybody  about  them. 
Assassins,  too,  or  men  who  have  been  suspected  of  being 
so.  Yet  there  they  were,  fighting  for  a  chance  of  going  out 
to  starvation  and  danger  and  death." 

Gordon's  eyes  were  running  over  by  this  time,  but  they 
were  glistening,  too,  like  the  sun  when  it  shines  through  a 
cloud   of  rain. 

"  Open  the  curtains,  Hafiz,"  he  said,  and  when  Hafiz  had 
done  so  it  was  almost  as  if  an  angel  of  hope  had  parted 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  197 

them  and  come  sweeping  with  a  stream  of  sunlight  into  the 
room. 

Then  Hafiz  told  of  the  going  away  of  the  hundred  mes- 
sengers, of  Ishmael's  triumphant  prediction  that  they  would 
come  back,  and  finally  of  the  return  of  the  people  to  their 
homes  with  the  flow  as  of  a  great  tide,  filled  with  a  new 
spirit,   comforted,  changed,  transformed,  transfigured. 

"  And  Ishmael  himself  ?  "  asked  Gordon. 

"  He  has  gone  also,"  said  Hafiz. 

"  Where  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  That  was  kept  quiet,  but  the  Chancellor  was  there,  and 
I  got  it  out  of  him — he  has  gone  to  Khartoum." 

"  Khartoum  ? " 

"  That's  where  he  comes  from — where  he  lived  in  his 
youth  at  all  events.  He  has  to  take  the  early  train  for 
Upper  Egypt,  so  he'll  be  on  his  way  already.  Oh,  something 
is  going  to  happen !  Wait — you'll  see !  Couldn't  find  out 
exactly  what  the  men  were  told  to  do,  but  Government  has 
its  work  cut  out  for  it." 

"  There  was  to  be  no  resistance  to  the  rule  of  England 
— do  you  say  he  said  that,  Hafiz  ?  " 

"  That's  true.  '  Do  you  wish  to  drive  England  out  of 
Egypt?  Go  home,'  he  said;  'this  pilgrimage  is  not  yours. 
Do  you  expect  to  conquer  by  the  sword  ?  Stand  back  !  This 
work  is  not  for  you.'  All  the  same  there'll  be  a  mighty  stir 
at  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior.  Omdehs  and  Moudirs  and 
all  the  miscellaneous  blackguards  will  be  watching  Ishmael 
and  his  men.  So  much  the  better  for  us,  my  boy.  Now's 
your  time!     Now's  your  opportunity!" 

While  Gordon  listened  a  great  burden  seemed  to  fall 
from  him.  A  sort  of  electric  revelation  appeared  to  suffuse 
the  path  that  had  been  so  obscure  a  few  moments  before.  His 
prayers  seemed  to  be  answered;  the  bright  glory  of  a  new 
hope  seemed  to  be  born  within  him  and  he  thought  he  saw 
his  way  at  last. 

Though  his  career  as  a  soldier  was  at  an  end;  though 

his   father,   his   mother  and  Helena  were   gone   from  him; 

though  he  had  lost  everything  he  had  loved  and  been  proud 

of;  though  the  ways  of  life  seemed  to  be  for  ever  closed  to 

14 


198  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

him  and  the  world  had  no  use  for  him  any  longer,  and  he 
was  beaten  and  broken  and  alone,  there  was  One  who  was 
with  him  still — there  was  God! 

"  With  our  God  is  forgiveness,"  and  in  the  immensity 
and  majesty  of  His  compassion  the  Almighty  had  willed  it 
that  he,  even  he,  might  yet  do  something. 

He  would  join  the  forces  of  the  new  prophet! 

Why  not?  Their  cause  was  a  good  one.  It  was  not 
a  crusade  of  Egypt  against  England,  but  of  right  against 
wrong,  of  justice  against  injustice,  of  belief  against  unbe- 
lief, of  God  against  the  world. 

Hold!    A  traitor  to  his  church  and  country? 

Xo,  for  this  was  the  great  universal  war — the  war  of  an 
empire  that  had  no  boundaries,  the  holy  war  that  had  been 
waged  all  the  earth  over  and  all  the  ages  through — the  war 
of  religion  and  truth  against  the  powers  of  darkness  and 
death. 

So  thinking  God's  hand  was  leading  him,  he  saw  himself 
— white  man,  and  Christian,  and  British  soldier  though  he 
was — following  Ishmael  Ameer  into  the  desert,  working  by 
his  side,  and  then  coming  back  at  last  when  his  sin  had  been 
forgiven  and  his  redemption  won. 

"Yet  wait!  What  about  my  father?"  he  thought,  but 
could  not  think  of  his  father  at  the  same  time  that  he 
thought  of  his  return.  He  remembered  his  mother,  though, 
and  saw  himself  taking  her  in  his  arms  and  saying :  "  Mother, 
I've  come  back  to  you,  as  you  always  said  I  would.  I  only 
meant  to  do  what  was  right  and  if  I  did  what  was  wrong 
God  has  pardoned  me." 

And  then  far  off,  very  far,  hardly  daring  to  see  itself 
yet,  in  his  awakened  soul  there  was  a  hope  of  Helena. 
Somehow  and  somewhere  he  would  meet  her  again — he 
knew  not  how  or  where  or  when,  but  Heaven  knew  every- 
thing and  the  end  would  be  with  God. 

Thus  with  a  labouring  and  quivering  heart,  and  with 
bleared  eyes  that  were  running  over,  he  sat  on  his  bed,  look- 
ing into  the  stream  of  sunlight  that  was  pouring  into  the 
room,  and  feeling  with  an  immense  joy  that  God  had  mani- 
fested His  will  at  last.     Meantime  Hafiz,  still  tuning  his 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  199 

speech  to  the  spirit  of  the  natural  man,  was  chueklinp:  and 
crowing  over  his  new  chance  of  getting  Gordon  out  of  the 
country. 

"  Damn  it  all,  man,  we'll  beat  them  yet,  if  you'll  only 
leave  yourself  to  me.     And  you  will,  I  know  you  will !  " 

"  Hafiz,"  said  Gordon,  "  you  thought  last  night  you  could 
help  me  to  get  away  from  here — do  you  still  think  you 
could?" 

"Certainly!     Isn't  that  what  I'm  saying?" 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  do  it  now  ? " 

"  Why  not — that  is  to  say,  if  you  are  well  enough — it's 
your  hand,  isn't  it?" 

"  That's  nothing — only  a  sore  finger,  you  know." 

"  God !  A  sore  finger,  and  old  Michael  says  it's  gone — 
half  of  it  anj'way!  But  if  it  had  been  half  your  arm  it 
wouldn't  have  stopped  you — I  know  that  quite  well.  So  if 
you're  game  I'm  ready.  The  sooner  the  better,  too!  The 
dear  old  Patriarch  will  close  his  eyes,  and  as  for 
Michael " 

"  What  day  is  this,  Hafiz  ? "  said  Gordon — he  had  lost 
count  of  them. 

"  Monday — that's  the  worst  of  it.  The  steamer  doesn't 
sail  until  Saturday,  and  you'll  have  to  stay  in  Alexandria 
until — Or  wait!  Why  not  take  a  foreign  boat?  The  French 
one  to  Marseilles,  or — let  me  think — the  Italian  boat  to 
Messina.  The  very  thing!  She  sails  on  Wednesday.  You 
can  join  the  English  at  ISTaples.  Splendid!  Better  than 
joining  her  at  Alexandria.     There's  Helena,  you  know." 

"Helena?" 

"  A  woman's  a  woman  after  all,  my  boy.  Mind,  I  don't 
say  Helena  would  give  you  away,  but  she  might — not  hav- 
ing seen  you  since  her  father's  death  and  then  coming  so 
unexpectedly  upon  you  at  Alexandria — at  the  ship's  side 
perhaps.  Better  not  risk  it.  Get  out  of  the  country  before 
you  meet  her — away  from  that  brute  of  a  Macdonald  and 
all  the  tags  and  bobs  of  the  Intelligence  Department." 

"  I'll  want  a  disguise  of  some  sort,  Hafiz." 

"  Good  idea !  "  said  Hafiz,  slapping  his  knee.  "  You 
can't  set  foot  in  the  streets  of  Cairo  without  being  recog- 


200  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

nised.  Then  if  I'm  right  about  the  trackers — but  we'll  not 
talk  about  that.  Something  Eastern,  eh?  What  do  you  say 
to  a  Coptic  priest?  Old  Michael  could  lend  us  a  black  gown 
and  a  black  turban.  Or  no,  a  Bedouin  going-  to  ISTaples  for 
ammunition!  Why,  it  happens  every  day!  Splendid  cos- 
tume !  Covers  your  head  and  nearly  all  your  face,  you  know 
— Oh,  we'll  lick  him,  the  big,  bloated,  blithering — Ha,  ha ! 
Effendi  thinks  he  holds  the  field,  and  he  is  walking  about 
the  city  like  a  leopard  among  dogs.     But  wait  I     We'll  see !  " 

Then  getting  up  from  the  side  of  the  bed  and  walking 
to  and  fro  in  the  room,  Hafiz  laughed  out  loud  in  his  sav- 
ag"©  joy  at  the  thought  of  defeating  Macdonald,  until  Gordon 
said : 

"  I  shall  want  a  man  to  go  with  me.  Can  you  find  me 
a  man,  Hafiz  ? "  and  at  that  the  good  fellow's  spirits 
dropped  suddenly  and  his  laughing  mouth  began  to  lag. 

"A  man?  To  go  with  you?  Well,  I — I  thought  of  doing 
that  myself,  Gordon — as  far  as  the  boat,  I  mean — just  to 
see  the  last  of  you — not  knowing  when  I  may — But  perhaps 
you're  right.  I  might  cause  you  to  be  suspected  and  then — 
Yes,  I  must  give  that  up,  I  suppose." 

"  That's  all  right,  Hafiz — we'll  meet  again  somewhere," 
said  Gordon,  and  when  Hafiz's  face  had  brightened  afresh 
he  added : 

"  I'll  want  camels,  Hafiz — two  good  strong  camels." 

"  Camels  ?  Why,  what  the  deuce — Ah,  of  course !  What 
a  fool  I  am!  Every  station  watched!  Wonder  I  never 
thought  of  that  before!  The  jackals  are  all  along  the  line, 
and  if  you  had  gone  by  train,  damn  it,  man,  where  should 
we  have  been  ?  In  Macdonald's  mouse  traps  in  no  time  1 
Oh,  yes,  camels,  of  course.  I'll  get  you  camels.  Good  ones, 
too.  Bedouins  always  have  good  camels.  Ha,  ha !  Effen- 
di  will  go  to  the  place  he  is  fit  for,  and  God  increase  the 
might  of  Islam !  " 

"  I'll  want  money,  too,  Hafiz." 

"  Don't  trouble  about  that.  I've  got  a  little  myself — all 
you'll  want  to  get  away." 

"  I'll  want  a  good  deal,  Hafiz.  There's  a  bundle  of  bank 
notes  in  the  top  drawer  of  my  desk  at  the  barracks.    You'll 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  201 

find   the  key  in  my  trousers'  pocket,  and  if  you  can  only 
contrive " 

"  Of  course  I  can.  Your  soldier  boy  has  been  asking- 
after  you  ever  since  you  went  away.  He'll  manage  it. 
Macdonald's  bloodhounds  are  beating  about  the  barracks  of 
course,  but  Tommy — trust  Tommy  to  get  the  money  for 
you — In  your  trousers'  pocket,  you  say  ? — All  rig-ht !  Here's 
the  key! — Let  me  see  now — you'll  want  your  berth  booked — 
to  Messina,  I  mean.  I'll  do  that  myself  and  give  you  what- 
ever's  left — I  must  keep  out  of  people's  way  until  after 
Wednesday,  though.  ISTo  calling  at  the  Agency — ^not  if  I 
know  it !  My  mother  must  be  told  I've  been  sent  off  some- 
where, and  as  for  the  Consul-General  and  the  telephone — 
I'll  break  the  blessed  receiver,  that's  what  I'll  do ! — Xever 
mind  about  my  not  seeing  you  off.  Lord  alive,  that's  noth- 
ing! Hope  to  get  leave  before  long  and  then  I'll  slip  over 
to  England.  So  I'll  not  be  saying  good-bye  to  you  when 
you  go  away,  Gordon — not  altogether,  you  know — not  for 
good,  I  mean.  And  if  all  goes  well  with  you  and 
Helena " 

But  the  chuckling  and  the  crowing  and  the  laughing  out 
loud  in  savage  exultation  at  the  thought  of  beating  Mac- 
donald  were  beginning  to  break  down,  and  then  Gordon, 
unable  to  keep  back  the  truth  any  longer,  said  in  a  voice 
that  chilled  the  ear  of  Hafiz: 

"  Hafiz,  old  fellow !  " 

"  Well  ? " 

"  I  don't  intend  to  go  back  to  England." 

"  You  don't  intend  to  go  back " 

"  Xo." 

"  Then  where  the — where  are  you  going  to,  Charlie  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  Khartoum." 


XI 

During  the  earlier  hours  of  the  Xight  of  Lamentation 
Helena  sat  in  her  room  looking  over  bundles  of  old  letters 
and  tying  them  up  with   ribbon.     The  letters  were  nearly 


202  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

all  from  Gordon,  but  being  written  under  different  condi- 
tions and  meant  to  be  read  in  happier  hours,  every  phiy- 
ful  passage  in  them  stung  and  every  word  of  affection 
scorched. 

She  was  waiting  for  the  black  boy  to  come  back  from 
the  demonstration  and  thinking  out  a  course  of  conduct. 
Instead  of  returning  to  England  she  was  to  remain  in 
Cairo,  and  by  help  of  the  new  evidence  she  was  to  compel 
the  law  to  arrest  and  convict  the  guilty  man.  It  was  her 
right  to  do  so,  and  since  the  authorities,  thinking  of  other 
things,  were  shirking  their  responsibility,  it  was  her  duty, 
her  solemn  and  sacred  duty. 

What  did  State  considerations  matter  to  her?  ^Nothing! 
She  remembered  the  predicament  of  the  Army  Surgeon 
without  compunction,  and  even  when  she  thought  of  the 
position  of  the  Consul-General  she  did  not  care.  Her  father 
was  dead,  Gordon  was  lost  to  her,  she  was  a  woman  and 
she  was  alone,  and  nothing  else  was  of  the  smallest  conse- 
quence. Thus  seeing  to  the  bottom  of  her  own  misery,  she 
had  now  no  pity  for  anybody  else. 

At  midnight  the  black  boy  had  not  returned,  and  being 
worn  out  with  sleeplessness,  and  assured  by  her  other  serv- 
ants that  Mosie  was  well  able  to  take  care  of  himself,  she 
w'ent  to  bed.  But  the  moonlight  filtered  through  the  white 
window  blind  and  she  lay  for  some  time  with  wide-open 
eyes  thinking  what  she  would  do  next  day.  She  would  go 
down  to  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior  and  set  the  law  in 
motion.  There  would  be  no  time  to  lose,  for  if  Ishmael 
escaped  the  consequences  of  to-night's  proceedings  he  might 
leave  Cairo  without  delay. 

She  slept  a  few  hours  only  and  when  she  awoke  the  sun 
was  flocking  w'ith  fiery  bars  a  window  that  faced  to  the 
east.  While  she  lay  on  her  back  with  her  arm  under  her 
head,  looking  at  the  ceiling,  and  working  herself  up  into  a 
still  greater  hatred  of  Ishmael,  there  came  a  timid  knock  at 
the  door  and  the  black  boy  entered  the  room.  He  was 
breathless  and  dishevelled  and  full  of  apologies. 

"Lady  angry  with  Mosie?  Mosie  stop  all  night  to  tell 
lady  everything,"  he  said,  and  then  he  told  her  what  had 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  203 

happened  in  the  Mohaninaedan  cemetery — a  wild,  disordered, 
delirious  story  of  the  departure  of  the  hundred  men. 

"But  the  prophet  himself — what  has  become  of  him?" 
asked  Helena,  raising  her  head  from  her  pillow. 

"  White  Prophet  gone,"  said  Mosie. 

"  Gone  ?  " 

"  Mosie  follow  him  to  station.  White  Prophet  go  by 
train,  lady." 

"  By  train  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lady.  White  Prophet  go  by  train  to  Upper 
Egypt,"  said  Mosie,  and  then  Helena  heard  no  more. 

Her  head  fell  back  to  her  pillow  and  she  covered  her  eyes 
with  her  hands.  The  guilty  man  was  gone,  the  authorities 
had  allowed  him  to  go,  and  if  the  evil-doer  was  to  be  pun- 
ished there  was  nothing  left  but  personal  vengeance. 

In  the  delirium  of  her  hatred  of  the  Egyptian  and  the 
tragic  tangle  of  her  awful  error,  every  tender  impulse  of 
her  heart  was  now  dead.  Overwhelmed  as  by  a  new  burden 
and  haunted  by  a  dark  responsibility — that  of  seeing  God's 
vengeance  brought  down  upon  her  father's  murderer — she 
saw  herself  at  one  moment  prompting  Gordon  to  kill  Ish- 
mael.  Why  not  ?  There  was  no  other  way.  Gordon  should 
kill  Ishmael  Ameer  because  Ishmael  Ameer  had  killed  her 
father ! 

At  the  next  moment  the  recollection  that  Gordon  had 
gone  took  her  back  once  more  to  the  bitterest  part  of  her 
suffering.  She  had  always  thought  that  when  God  made 
Gordon  He  had  made  him  without  fear,  yet  he  had  run  away 
from  the  consequences  of  being  court-martialled.  It  was 
intensely  painful  to  her  to  despise  Gordon,  but  do  what  she 
would  she  could  not  help  feeling  a  growing  contempt  for 
him.  If  he  had  only  stood  up  to  his  punishment  she  would 
have  been  proud  of  him,  and  even  if  he  had  been  drummed 
out  of  the  Army,  or  any  fate  had  befallen  him  less  terrible 
than  death,  he  would  have  found  her  standing  by  his  side. 

But  he  had  fled,  he  had  left  her,  and  being  useless  to  all 
purposes  of  righteous  vengeance,  a  woman  without  a  man 
behind  her,  she  could  do  nothing  now  but  go  back  to 
England. 


204  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

During-  the  next  three  days  she  was  kept  busy  by  the 
mechanical  preparations  for  her  departure.  There  was  not 
much  she  had  to  do,  for  the  contents  of  the  General  House 
belonged  to  the  Army,  and  beyond  her  own  and  her  father's 
personal  possessions  there  was  little  to  pack  up,  yet  the 
black  boy  was  always  beside  her,  with  a  helping  hand  but 
a  lagging  lip  and  many  plaintive  lamentations. 

"  Lady  not  want  Mosie  any  more  now — no  ?  " 

On  the  Thursday  he  came  running  into  Helena's  room 
to  say  that  Lady  Nuneham,  with  her  Egyptian  maid,  had 
come  to  call  on  her. 

Helena  met  Gordon's  mother  at  the  door,  the  sweet  old 
soul  with  her  pale,  spiritual  face,  suffering  visibly  but  bear- 
ing herself  bravely  as  she  stepped  out  of  her  closely  cur- 
tained carriage  and  crossed  the  g-arden  path,  under  the 
white  heat  of  the  noonday  sun,  with  one  arm  through 
Fatimah's,  and  the  other  trembling  hand  on  the  ebony  handle 
of  a  walking  stick. 

As  soon  as  she  reached  the  hall  the  old  lady  lifted  her 
veil  and  stretched  out  her  arms  to  Helena  and  kissed  her, 
and  then  patted  her  shoulder  with  her  mittened  hand  as  if 
Helena  had  been  a  child  and  she  had  come  to  comfort  her. 

"  My  poor  Helena !  It's  hard  for  you,  I  know,  but  if 
God  sends  the  cross  He  sends  the  strength  to  carry  it.  I've 
always  found  it  so,  my  dear,"  she  said,  and  when  she  was 
seated  on  the  sofa  with  Helena  beside  her,  she  began  to 
talk  of  her  own  father,  how  they  had  been  everything  to 
each  other,  and  when  he  had  died  she  had  thought  she  could 
not  live  without  him,  but  God  had  been  good — He  had  sent 
her  her  husband  and  then " 

But  that  was  a  blind  alley  down  which  she  could  walk 
no  farther,  for  there  was  one  name  that  was  trembling  on 
the  lips  of  both  women  and  neither  of  them  could  yet  bring 
herself  to  speak  it. 

"  When  my  mother  died,  too — I  was  married  then  and 
living  here  in  Cairo,  but  mother  couldn't  leave  the  old 
home  in  Massachusetts  where  I  was  brought  up  as  a  child 
— poor  mother,  she  used  to  play  blind-man's-buff  in  the  hall 
with  me,  I  remember,  for  we  were  far  away  from  other  peo- 


THE   SHADOW   OF   THE    SWORD  205 

pie  and  I  had  no  little  playmates — when  she  died  I  thought 
I  should  have  died,  too,  but  God  was  good  to  me  again — 
He  sent  me  my  own  child,  my  boy,  my " 

It  was  just  as  if  all  roads  converged  to  one  centre,  and 
to  escape  from  it  the  old  lady  began  to  talk  of  little  things, 
asking  simple  questions  and  giving  motherly  advice,  while 
Helena  held  down  her  head  and  drew  the  hem  of  her  hand- 
kerchief through  her  fingers. 

"You  are  sailing  on  Saturday,  are  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  on  Saturday." 

"  You  must  take  good  care  of  yourself,  dearest.  It  is 
hot  in  Cairo,  but  it  may  be  cool  in  Alexandria  and  even 
cold  on  the  sea.  Put  some  warm  clothing  on,  dear,  some 
nice  warm  underclothing,  you  know." 

She  was  sure  to  meet  pleasant  people  on  the  steamer  and 
they  would  see  her  safely  into  the  train  at  Marseilles.  It 
would  be  such  an  agreeable  break  to  travel  overland  through 
Paris,  and  when  she  reached  London " 

"  Have  you  anybody  to  meet  you  in  London,  Helena  ?  "^ 

Still  drawing  the  hem  of  her  handkerchief  through  her 
fingers,  Helena  shook  her  head. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  that,  dear,  very  sorry." 

Landing  in  London  was  so  trying,  so  bewildering,  es- 
pecially if  you  were  a  woman.  Such  crowds,  such  confu- 
sion !  It  always  made  her  feel  so  helpless.  And  then  she 
had  the  Consul-General  to  look  after  her,  and  once  Gordon 
had  come  to  meet  her,  too.  He  was  at  the  Staff  College  at 
that  time,  and  before  she  alighted  from  the  carriage  she  had 
seen  him  forging  his  way  down  the  platform,  and  he  kissed 
his  hand  to  her. 

But  the  sweet  old  thing  could  bear  up  no  longer,  and 
while  Helena  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  she  said : 

"  Oh,  Helena,  how  happy  we  might  have  been !  It's 
wrong  of  me,  I  know  it's  wrong,  but  I  can't  reconcile  myself 
to  it  even  yet.  'Why  is  my  life  prolonged?'  I  have  often 
thought,  and  then  I  have  told  myself  it  was  because  God 
intended  that  I  should  live  to  see  my  dear  children  happy. 
Ah,  my  darling,  it  would  have  been  so  beautiful !  My  chil- 
dren and  perhaps  mj"^  children's  children.  If  I  could  only 
15 


206  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

have  seen  them  all  together  once!  It  -would  have  been  so 
easy  to  go  then.  But  now  my  son  is  gone — I  don't  know 
what  has  become  of  him — and  my  daughter — my  sweet 
daughter  that  was  to  be '' 

Helena  sank  to  her  knees.  "  Mother !  "  she  said,  and 
burying  her  face  in  Lady  Xuneham's  shoulder,  she  felt,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  that  a  mother's  heart  was  beating 
against  her  own. 

After  a  while  the  old  lady,  whose  arms  had  been  about 
Helena's  neck,  began  to  stroke  her  forehead  and  the  top  of 
her  head,  and  to  say  in  a  calmer  voice : 

"  It  was  wrong  of  me  to  repine,  dear.  Happiness  does 
not  depend  on  us.  It  depends  on  God,  and  we  should  leave 
everything  to  Him.  He  will  do  what  is  best.  I'm  sure  He 
will." 

Then  in  a  nervous  way  she  attempted  to  defend  Gordon. 
They  were  not  to  be  too  hard  on  him.  No  doubt  he  thought 
he  was  doing  what  was  right. 

"  And  he  was,  too,  wasn't  he  ?  In  a  sense  at  least.  Don't 
you  think  so,  Helena  ? " 

Helena  could  not  answer,  but  she  made  a  helpless  motion 
with  her  head. 

They  were  not  to  suppose  he  meant  to  forsake  them 
either,  and  if  he  had  fled  away  he  was  not  thinking  of  him- 
self only — they  might  be  sure  of  that.  He  never  did — 
never  had  done — never  once  since  he  was  a  child. 

"  You  couldn't  give  him  a  handful  of  sweets  when  he 
was  a  boy  but  he  asked  for  another  for  Hafiz." 

Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  his  father — that  if  he  gave 
himself  up  and  there  was  an  inquiry,  a  court-martial,  the 
Consul-General  would  suffer  in  his  influence  in  Egypt  and 
his  esteem  in  England.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  Helena 
herself — that  it  might  seem  as  if  her  father's  death  had 
been  hastened  by  the  painful  scene  with  himself.  And  per- 
haps he  was  thinking  a  little  of  his  mother,  too — of  the 
pain  she  would  suffer  at  sight  of  her  husband  and  her  son 
at  war  before  the  world. 

However  this  might  be  he  would  come  back.  She  knew 
he  would.    Oh,  yes,  she  knew  quite  well  he  would  come  back. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  207 

For  four  days  she  had  asked  God,  and  He  had  answered  her 
at  last. 

" '  Help  me,  O  God,  for  Christ's  sake ! '  I  said.  '  Will 
my  dear  son  come  back  to  me?  Shall  I  see  him  again?  O 
God,  give  me  a  sign  ? '  And  He  did,  my  dear.  Yes,  it  was 
just  before  dawn  this  morning.  '  Janet ! '  said  a  voice,  and 
I  was  not  afraid.     'Be  patient,  Janet!     All  will  be  well!'" 

Helena  dared  not  look  up,  being  afraid  to  penetrate  by 
so  much  as  a  glance  the  sanctity  of  the  sweet  old  lady's  soul. 

"  So  you  see  it's  wrong  to  repine,  dear.  Everything  will 
work  out  for  the  best.  You  are  going  to  England,  but  that 
doesn't  matter  in  the  least.  We'll  all  come  together  again 
yet.  And  when  my  dear  ones  are  united,  my  sweet  daughter 
and  my  boy — my  brave,  brave  boy " 

The  old  lady's  voice  was  quivering  with  the  excitement 
of  her  joy,  when  Fatimah,  who  had  stood  aside  in  silence, 
stepped  fon\'ard  and  said : 

"  Better  go  home  now,  my  lady.  His  lordship  will  be 
waiting  for  his  lunch." 

Lady  Nuneham  took  Helena's  head  between  her  hands 
and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  then  dropped  her  veil  and 
rose  to  her  feet  by  help  of  Fatimah's  arm  on  the  one  side 
and  her  stick  on  the  other. 

"  Good-bye  for  the  present,  Helena !  Be  sure  you  write 
as  soon  as  you  get  to  England.  Take  good  care  of  yourself 
on  the  voyage,  dear.  And  don't  forget  to  put  on  some  nice 
warm  underclothing,  you  know.     Good-bye !  " 

Helena  saw  her  back  to  the  door,  the  sweet,  helpless  old 
child,  living  by  the  life  of  her  beautiful  love.  As  she  passed 
down  the  path  she  waved  her  delicate  hand  in  its  silken 
mitten,  and  Helena  said  farewell  to  her  with  her  eyes,  know- 
ing she  would  see  her  no  more. 


XII 

After  a  while  Helena  began  to  think  tenderly  of  Gordon 
and  to  conjure  up  the  beautiful  moments  of  their  love — the 
moment  in  the  harbour  before  he  set  off  for  Alexandria,  the 


208  THE    WHITE    PKOPHET 

moment  in  his  quarters  when  she  had  to  slip  off  her  glove 
and  dip  her  finger  in  the  glass  from  whieh  he  drank  her 
Lealth,  and  above  all  the  moment  of  their  first  meeting, 
when  he  said  he  loved  Egypt  and  the  Egyptians  and  every- 
thing and  everybody,  and  they  laughed  and  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes,  and  smiled  without  speaking,  and  he  took 
her  hand  and  kept  on  holding  it,  and  a  world  of  warm  im- 
pulses coursed  through  her  veins,  and  something  whispered 
to  her,  "  It  is  he !  " 

But  thinking  like  this  about  Gordon  only  made  her 
remember  with  even  more  bitterness  than  before  the  man 
who  had  taken  him  away  from  her.  Presently  she  saw  that 
there  was  a  kind  of  dishonour  to  Gordon  in  hating  the 
Egyptian  for  that,  and  though  she  tried  to  justify  herself 
by  thinking  of  Gordon's  mother,  and  of  the  beautiful  blind 
faith  that  was  doomed  to  death,  she  was  compelled  to  go 
back  at  length  to  the  one  sure  ground  on  which  she  could 
continue  to  hate  Ishmael  and  keep  a  good  conscience — that 
the  man  had  killed  her  father. 

So  intensely  did  she  work  up  her  feelings  on  this  sub- 
ject that,  awaking  in  the  middle  of  the  night  after  Lady 
Nuneham's  visit,  she  held  out  her  hands  in  bed  and  prayed 
to  God  to  let  his  vengeance  fall  on  the  Egyptian. 

"Punish  him,  O  God,  punish  him,  punish  him!  My 
father  is  dead !  My  dear  father  is  dead !  He  was  so  weak, 
so  ill,  so  old !  O  God,  let  Thy  vengeance  fall  on  the  cow- 
ard who  killed  him!  Let  thy  hand  be  on  him  as  long  as 
he  lives !  Follow  him  wherever  he  goes !  Destroy  him  what- 
ever he  does !  Let  him  never  know  another  happy  hour ! 
Let  him  be  an  exile  and  an  outcast  to  the  last  hour  of  his 
life !     0  God,  hear  me,  hear  me !  " 

Xext  morning  she  felt  ashamed  of  this  outburst,  but  less 
because  of  its  bitterness  than  its  futility,  and  then  with  a 
sense  of  utter  helplessness  she  began  to  feel  the  misery  of 
being  a  woman.  It  was  a  part  of  the  cruel  scheme  of 
nature  that  however  injured  and  outraged,  a  woman  could 
do  nothing.  In  the  East,  above  all,  she  was  useless — useless 
to  all  purposes  of  justice  or  vengeance  or  revenge. 

On  the  Friday  afternoon,  having  made  the  last  prepa- 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  209 

rations  for  her  departure,  she  was  sitting'  at  her  desk,  writ- 
ing hibels  for  her  trunks  and  portmanteaus,  when  Mosie 
dashed  in  upon  her  to  say  that  the  Princess  Naziinah,  with 
outriders  and  footmen  and  eunuchs,  was  driving  up  to  the 
door.  A  moment  later  the  Princess  entered  the  room.  Her 
plump  person,  redolent  of  perfume,  was  clad  in  a  tussore 
silk  gown,  and  under  the  latest  of  Paris  hats  her  powdered 
face  was  plainly  visible  through  the  thinnest  of  chiffou 
veils. 

"  I  hear  you  are  leaving  Egypt,  so  I've  come  to  bid 
good-bye  to  you,"  she  said,  and  then  taking  Helena  by  the 
shoulders  and  looking  into  her  face  she  cried : 

"  Merciful  powers,  what  has  become  of  your  eyes,  my 
beauty  ?   What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself,  my  moon  ? "" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Helena. 

"Nothing?  Don't  tell  me.  You  are  not  sleeping,  no,  nor 
eating  neither.  Come,  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it," 
and  sitting  heavily  on  the  sofa,  with  Helena  beside  her,  she 
proceeded  to  do  the  talking  herself. 

"  But  my  dear  creature,  my  good  girl,  this  is  nonsense. 
Excuse  the  word — nonsense!  Good  God!  Is  a  girl  to  kill 
herself  because  her  father  dies  before  her?  Fathers  do,  and 
why  shouldn't  they?  Mine  did.  He  was  a  beast.  Excuse 
the  word — a  beast.  Forty  wives — or  was  it  fifty — but  he 
died,  nevertheless." 

With  that  she  lifted  her  veil,  used  a  smelling  bottle,, 
and  then  began  again  : 

"  I  see  what  it  is,  though — your  ways  are  not  our  ways,. 
and  all  this  comes  of  your  religion.  It  makes  you  think 
about  death  and  the  grave,  whereas  ours  tells  us  to  think 
about  life.  Your  Christianity  is  a  funeral  mute,  my  dear, 
while  Islam  is  a  dancing  girl,  God  bless  her!  You  groan 
and  weep  when  your  kindred  die.  We  laugh  and  arc  happy,. 
or  if  we  are  not  we  ought  to  be.  I'm  sure  I  was  when  my 
first  husband  died.  '  Thank  the  Lord  he's  gone,'  I  said.  It's 
true  I  hadn't  lived  on  the  best  of  terms  with  him,  but 
then " 

"  It's  not  my  father's  death  only,"  began  Helena  halt- 
ingly, whereupon  the  Princess  said: 


210  THE    WHITE    rROPHET 

"Yes,  of  course!  I've  heard  all  about  it.  He's  gone, 
and  I  suppose  you  know  no  more  than  anybody  else  what 
has  become  of  him.    No  ?  " 

"  No ! " 

"Ah,  my  dear,  my  moon,  my  beauty,  all  this  wouldn't 
have  happened  if  you  had  taken  my  advice.  When  your 
Gordon  began  to  oppose  his  father  you  should  have  stopped 
him.     Yes,  you  could  have  done  it.     Of  course  you  could." 

"I   couldn't,   Princess,"  said  Helena. 

"What?  You  mean  to  say  you  tried  to  and  you 
couldn't  ?  You  couldn't  get  him  to  give  up  that  ridiculous 
holy  man  for  a  girl  like —  Then  God  have  mercy  upon  us, 
what  are  you  moaning  about?  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a 
thing?  A  young  woman  like  you  eating  her  heart  out  for 
the  loss  of  a  man  who  prefers — well,  upon  my  word !  " 

The  Princess  put  her  smelling  bottle  to  both  nostrils  in 
quick  succession  and  then  said: 

"  It's  true  I  thought  him  the  best  of  the  bunch.  In  fact 
I  simply  lost  my  heart  to  him.  But  if  he  had  been  the  only 
man  in  the  world— oh,  I  know!  You  think  he  is  the  only 
one.  I  thought  that  myself  when  my  first  husband  left  me. 
It  wasn't  a  Mahdi  in  his  case.  Only  a  milliner,  and  I  was 
ready  to  die  of  shame.  But  I  didn't.  I  just  put  some  kohl 
on  my  eyes  and  looked  round  for  another.  It's  true  my  sec- 
ond wasn't  much  of  a  man,  but  a  donkey  of  your  own  is 
better  than  a  horse  of  somebody  else's." 
Again  the  smelling  bottle,  and  then : 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  dear.  I'm  a  woman  of  experience  at 
all  events.  Have  a  good  cry  and  get  him  out  of  your  head. 
Why  not?  lie's  gone,  isn't  he?  He  can  never  come  back 
to  the  Army,  and  his  career  as  a  soldier  is  at  an  end.  The 
felled  tree  doesn't  bear  any  more  dates,  so  what's  the  good 
of  him  anyway?  Oh,  I  know!  You  needn't  tell  me!  Love 
is  sweet  in  the  suckling  and  bitter  in  the  weaning,  and  you 
think  you  can't  do  it,  but  you  can.  You  are  going  back  to 
England,  I  hear.  So  much  the  better!  Far  from  the  eyes, 
far  from  the  heart,  and  quite  right,  too.  Get  married  as 
soon  as  possible  and  have  some  big  bouncing  babies.  I 
haven't   had    any   myself   certainly,   but    that's   diflfercnt — I 


THE    SHADOW   OF    THE    SWORD  211 

thought  I  wouldn't  repeat  the  crime  of  my  mother,  God 
forgive  her !  " 

Helena's  head  was  down — she  was  hardly  listening. 

"  Lose  no  time  either,  my  sweet.  Time  is  money,  they 
say,  and  perhaps  it  is,  though  it  has  different  prices  on  the 
bourse,  I  notice.  I've  known  days  that  would  have  been 
dear  at  two  piastres  and  a  few  quarters  of  an  hour  that  I 
wouldn't  have  parted  with  for  millions  of  money.  Perhaps 
you've  felt  like  that,  my  beauty.  But  perhaps  you  haven't. 
You're  only  a  child  yet,  my  chicken." 

"The  man  Ishmael  has  gone,  hasn't  he?"  asked  Helena. 

"  Yes,  they've  let  him  go,  the  stupids !  Back  to  the 
Soudan — to  Khartoum  they  tell  me." 

"Khartoum?" 

"  Just  like  you  English !  Dunces !  Excuse  the  word.  I 
say  what  I  think.  You  judge  of  the  East  by  the  West,  and 
can't  see  that  force  is  the  only  thing  these  people  under- 
stand. I  stood  it  for  five  days,  boiling  all  over  inside,  and 
then  I  went  down  to  the  Agency.  '  Good  gi-acious,'  I  said, 
'why  has  the  Government  allowed  these  men  to  slip  through 
their  fingers  ? '  And  when  Nuneham  said  he  had  laid  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  of  them  by  the  heels,  I  said  '  Tut !  '  Taking 
water  by  drops  will  never  fill  the  water-skin.  You  should 
have  laid  hold  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  and  that 
man  Ishmael  above  all.  But  you've  let  him  go — him  and 
his  hundred  messengers — and  now  yoii'll  have  to  take  the 
consequences.  Serve  you  right,  too!  What  was  the  use  of 
putting  down  the  Arabic  press  if  you  let  the  Arabic  preach- 
ers go  unmolested ? '" 

"What  did  he  say  to  that.  Princess?" 

"  He  said  he  had  scotched  the  snake  but  he  was  not  for- 
getting the  scorpion.  It's  no  use  talking,  though.  Nune- 
ham  is  a  great  man,  but  he  has  lost  his  nerve  and  is  always 
asking  himself  what  they  are  saying  about  him  in  Eng- 
land. Boobies  in  Parliament,  I  suppose,  and  he  wants  to 
be  ready  to  reply  to  them.  But  goodness  me,  if  you  throw 
a  missile  at  every  dog  that  barks  at  you  the  stones  in  your 
street  will  be  as  precious  as  jewels  soon.  Oh,  I  know !  I'm 
a  woman  of  experience." 


212  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Helena  was  staring  straight  before  her. 

"  I  see  what  is  going  to  happen,"  said  the  Princess. 
"  This  man  will  sow  sedition  all  over  the  country  and  mean- 
time preach  peace  in  Khartoum  and  throw  dust  in  the  eyes 
of  Europe." 

"  He  is  a  scoundrel,  a  hypocrite " 

"  Of  course  he  is,  my  dear,  but  when  people  are  bad  they 
always  pretend  that  they  want  to  make  other  people  better." 

"  Can  the  Government  do  nothing  to  stop  him,  to  destroy 
him ?" 

"  No,  my  dear.  Thei'e  is  only  one  thing  that  can  do 
that  now." 

"What?" 

"  A  woman  !  " 

"  A  woman  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  Follow  the  holy  man  no  farther  than  his 
"threshold,  they  say.  But  some  woman  always  does  so. 
Always ! " 

Helena's  staring  eyes  with  their  far-away  look  had  come 
"back  to  the  Princess's  face.  The  Princess  was  beating  her 
hand  and  laughing. 

"  You  English  think  woman  has  no  power  in  the  East. 
Rubbish !  She  is  more  powerful  here  than  anywhere  else. 
Even  polygamy  gives  her  power — for  a  time  at  all  events. 
While  she  is  first  favourite  she  rules  everything,  and  when 
she  ceases  to  be  that — "  The  Princess  laughed  again,  closed 
lier  eyes,  and  said :  "  She  who  doesn't  take  her  revenge  has 
an  ass  for  uncle." 

Helena's  heart  began  to  beat  so  violently  that  she  could 
scarcely  speak,  but  she  said: 

"  You  mean  that  some  woman  will  betray  this  man " 

"What  is  more  likely?  They  all  fall  that  way  sooner  or 
later,  my  beauty.  This  one  has  taken  a  kind  of  vow  of  celi- 
bacy, they  say,  but  what  matter?  When  I  was  as  young  as 
you  are  there  was  nothing  I  loved  so  much  as  to  meet  with 
a  man  of  that  sort.    It  was  child's  play,  my  darling." 

All  the  blood  in  Helena's  body  was  now  boiling  under 
the  poison  of  a  new  thought. 

"  I  hear  he  says  he  will  come  back  in  glory  and  then 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  213 

Egypt  will  be  at  his  feet.  Bismillah!"  said  the  Princess, 
raising  her  eyes  in  mock  reverence,  and  then  laughing  gaily 
she  added: 

"  Perhaps — who  knows  ? — before  that  •time  comes  some 
woman  of  the  harem  may  find  her  opportunity.  Jealousy — 
envy — revenge — one  may  see  how  the  world  goes  without 
eyes,  my  beauty !  " 

Helena  sat  motionless;  she  was  scarcely  able  to  breathe. 

"  Good  luck  to  her,  I  say !  "  said  the  Princess.  "  She'll 
do  more  for  Egypt  than  all  the  ISTunehams  and  Sirdars  put 
together." 

Then  she  looked  round  at  Helena  and  said : 

"  I've  shocked  you,  haven't  I,  my  dear  ?  Women  in  the 
West  don't  do  these  things,  do  they?  No,  they  are  civilised, 
and  when  they  have  been  wronged  by  men  they  take  them 
into  the  courts  and  make  them  pay.  Faugh !  There  can 
be  no  red  blood  in  women's  veins  in  your  countries." 

The  Princess  rummaged  in  her  bag  for  her  powder  puff, 
used  it  vigorously,  put  away  her  smelling  bottle,  and  then 
rose  to  go,  saying: 

"  I  don't  mean  you,  my  sweet.  Your  mother  was  Jewish 
— wasn't  she? — and  it  was  a  Jewish  woman  who  destroyed 
the  captain  of  the  Assyrians  and  smote  off  his  head  with  her 
own  falchion.  Women  can't  fight  their  battles  with  swords, 
though.  But,"  laughing  and  patting  Helena's  hand  again, 
"what  has  Allah  given  them  such  big  black  eyes  for? 
Adieu,  my  dear!     Adieu!" 

Helena  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  where  the  Prin- 
cess had  left  her  and  slowly  looked  around.  Eor  a  long  time 
she  remained  there  thinking.  Was  woman  so  utterly  help- 
less as  she  had  supposed?  And  when  she  was  deeply 
wronged,  when  her  dear  ones  were  torn  from  her,  when  she 
was  a  victim  of  cruel  violence  and  heartless  hypocrisy,  and 
the  law  failed  her,  and  the  State,  having  its  own  ends  to 
serve,  tried  to  shufile  her  off,  was  she  not  justified  in  using 
against  her  enemy  the  only  weapons  which  God  had  given 
her? 

At  that  she  grew  hot  and  then  cold,  and  then  a  sense  of 
shame  came   over  her  and   she   covered  her  face   with  her 


214  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

hands.  "  What  am  I  thinking  of  ?  "  she  asked  herself,  and 
the  floor  seemed  to  slide  from  under  her  feet.  The  thought 
which  the  Princess  had  put  into  her  mind  was  treason  to 
her  love  for  Gordon.  That  love  was  a  sacred  thing  to  her, 
and  it  would  always  remain  so,  even  though  she  might  never 
see  Gordon  again.  Love  itself  was  sacred,  and  she  who  gave 
it  away  for  any  gain  of  vengeance  or  revenge  was  a  bad 
woman. 

Helena  sat  down  with  her  elbows  on  the  desk  and  her 
chin  resting  on  her  hands  and  stared  out  of  the  Avindow. 
After  a  while  a  kind  of  relief  came  to  her.  She  began  to 
recall  some  of  the  Princess's  parting  words.  "  She  will  do 
more  for  Egypt  than  all  the  Nunehams  and  Sirdars  put 
together."  That  seemed  to  justify  the  thought  that  had 
taken  possession  of  her.  She  began  to  feel  herself  the  cham- 
pion of  justice  and  to  find  the  good  conscience  for  which 
she  sought. 

This  man  Ishmael,  who  had  killed  her  father,  and  by 
hypocritical  pretences  had  deceived  Gordon  and  caused  him 
to  be  carried  away  from  her,  was  an  impostor  who  would 
turn  England  out  of  Egypt  by  playing  on  the  fanaticism 
of  an  ignorant  populace.  He  was  another  Mahdi  who,  with 
words  of  peace  in  his  mouth,  would  devastate  the  country 
and  sow  the  very  sands  of  its  deserts  with  blood.  When  law 
failed  to  defeat  an  enemy  like  that,  and  the  machinery  of 
civilised  government  proved  to  be  impotent  against  him, 
were  there  any  means,  any  arts,  which  it  was  not  proper 
to  use? 

Love?  It  was  quite  unnecessary'  to  think  about  that. 
This  man  pretended  to  be  an  emancipator  of  the  Eastern 
woman.  Therefore  a  woman  might  go  to  him  and  offer  to 
help  him,  and  while  helping  him  she  might  possess  herself 
of  all  his  secrets.  "  Follow  the  holy  man  no  farther  than 
his  threshold,"  said  the  Arabs.  She  would  do  it  nevertheless, 
and  in  doing  it  she  would  be  serving  England  and  Egypt 
and  even  the  world. 

Thus  she  fought  with  herself  in  a  fierce  effort  to  hold 
on  to  her  good  conscience.  But,  staring  out  of  the  window, 
she  felt  as  if  something  from  the  river  were  stretching  out 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  215 

its  evil  hands  to  her.  The  red  streak  in  the  rising  Nile  was 
now  wider  than  before,  and  it  looked  more  than  ever  like 
blood. 

Ishmael  Ameer  would  not  know  her.  During  the  single 
moment  in  which  she  had  stood  in  the  same  room  with  him 
he  had  never  so  much  as  looked  in  her  direction.  The 
Sirdar  and  the  British  officers  of  the  Soudan  had  not  yet 
seen  her.  If  there  were  any  danger  of  their  asking  ques- 
tions the  Consul-General  could  set  them  at  rest.  "  I  can 
do  it,"  she  thought.    "  I  can  and  I  will." 

The  black  boy,  who  had  been  creeping  in  and  out  of  her 
room,  looking  more  and  more  miserable  as  he  found  her 
always  in  the  same  position,  now  approached  her  and  said, 
pointing  to  the  labels  under  her  elbows : 

"  Mosie  tie  them  onto  boxes,  lady  ? " 

She  looked  round  at  him  and  the  utter  slavishness  in 
his  little  soul  touched  her  pity.  It  also  stirred  her  caution 
for  she  told  herself  that  she  might  need  the  boy's  help  and 
that  he  would  die  for  her  if  need  be. 

"  Mosie,"  she  said,  "  would  you  like  to  go  away  with 
me?" 

Mosie,  in  his  delirious  joy,  could  hardly  believe  his  ears. 

"  Lady  take  Mosie  to  England  with  her  ?  " 

"  No,  to  your  own  country,  to  the  Soudan." 

Mosie  first  leaped  off  the  floor  as  if  he  wanted  to  flj-  up 
to  the  ceiling,  and  then  began  to  make  himself  big,  saying 
Mosie  was  a  good  boy,  he  was  lady's  own  boy  from  one  hand 
to  the  other,  and  what  would  have  become  of  lady  if  she  had 
gone  away  without  him? 

"  Then  bring  up  two  cabs  immediately,  one  for  the  lug- 
gage and  the  other  for  ourselves,  and  don't  say  a  word 
to  anybody,"  said  Helena,  who  had  risen  to  consult  a  rail- 
way time-table  and  was  now  tearing  up  her  labels. 

Hugging  himself  with  delight,  the  black  boy  shot  away 
instantly.  Helena  heard  his  joyous  laughter  as  it  rippled 
like  a  river  along  the  garden  path,  and  then  she  sat  down 
at  the  desk  to  write  to  the  Consul-General. 


216  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


XIII 

Gordon,  in  the  meantime,  living  on  the  heights  of  his 
new  resolve,  had  been  waiting  impatiently  for  the  oppor- 
tunity of  departure.  Xo  prisoner  looking  foru-ard  to  the 
hour  of  his  escape  ever  suffered  more  from  the  slow  passage 
of  time.  He  lost  all  appetite  for  food,  sleep  deserted  him, 
and  as  the  week  went  on  he  was  in  an  increasing  fever  of 
excitement.  On  Tuesday  he  received  through  Michael  a 
letter  from  Hafiz  saying: 

"  "We  must  be  careful.  I'll  tell  you  why.  I  was  right 
about  the  trackers.  That  beast  Macdonald,  having  sworn 
that  he  would  find  you  if  you  were  above  ground,  and  being 
sure  that  you  were  still  in  Cairo  and  that  the  people  were 
concealing  you,  employed  the  services  of  a  couple  of  ser- 
pents from  the  Soudan.  These  human  reptiles,  with  green 
eyes  like  the  eyes  of  boa-constrictors,  had  no  difficulty  in 
tracing  your  footsteps  to  a  side  street  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  El  Azhar,  but  there  your  footsteps  failed  them  as  abso- 
lutely as  if  you  had  sunk  into  the  earth. 

"  Perplexed  and  baffled,  they  were  on  the  point  of  giving 
up  the  search  when  in  the  soft  mud  of  the  disgusting  thor- 
oughfare they  found  the  marks  of  horses'  hoofs  and  of  the 
hoops  of  wheels,  and  from  these  they  concluded  that  you  had 
been  carried  off  in  a  conveyance  of  some  sort.  But  track  of 
the  carriage  was  lost  the  moment  they  reached  the  paved 
way  which  passes  through  the  Muski,  and  now  they  are  again 
bewildered. 

"  In  this  extremity,  however,  they  have  thought  of 
another  device  for  your  discovery,  which  is — what  do  you 
think? — to  watch  me!  Under  the  impression  that  I  know 
where  you  are,  they  are  dogging  my  footsteps  every  moment 
I  am  off  duty.  Xo  matter!  I'll  beat  the  beasts!  As  a 
bloodhound  is  nothing  but  a  nose,  so  a  tracker  is  nothing 
but  an  eye,  and  he  has  hardly  as  much  brain  as  you  could 
push  into  a  mushroom.  Therefore  wait!  Trust  yourself  to 
Hafiz!    Why  not?    You  cannot  depend  on  a  better  man." 


THE    SHADOW   OF   THE    SWORD  217 

Next  day,  Wednesday,  the  doctor,  with  his  bright  face 
and  cheery  voice,  came  again  to  dress  the  wounded  finger. 

"  Wonderful !  "  he  cried.  "  Almost  healed  already ! 
That's  what  youth  and  decent  living  does  for  a  man." 

"I  have  no  money  at  present,  doctor,"  said  Gordon, 
*'  but  I  exi^ect  to  receive  some  very  soon,  and  before  I  go 
your  fee  will  be  paid." 

"  Of  course  it  will — when  I  ask  for  it.  But  '  go  '  ?  Xot 
yet,  I  think." 

The  streets  were  like  a  sackful  of  eyes  and  every  eye 
seemed  to  be  looking  for  Gordon — either  to  attack  or  to 
protect  him. 

"  But  wait !  Things  don't  seem  to  be  going  too  smoothly 
for  the  Government." 

Cables  at  the  clubs  made  it  clear  that  England  was  not 
very  pleased  with  the  turn  events  had  taken  in  Cairo. 
There  had  been  questions  in  Parliament  and  the  Foreign 
Minister  at  his  wits'  end  to  defend  the  Consul-General. 
Mentions  of  Gordon  himself,  too,  and  some  of  the  Liberal 
Opposition  up  in  arms  for  him. 

"  So  wait,  I  say !  Who  knows  ?  You  may  walk  out  with- 
out danger  by  and  by." 

Thursday  passed  heavily  with  Gordon,  who  was  alone 
all  day  long  save  for  the  visits  of  old  Michael  when  bringing 
the  food,  which  went  away  untouched,  but  toward  midnight 
Hafiz  arrived,  with  his  eyes  full  of  mischief  and  his  fat 
cheeks  wreathed  in  smiles. 

"  Look !  "  he  said,  "  that's  the  way  to  beat  the  brutes," 
and  holding  up  one  foot  he  pointed  to  a  native  yellow  slip- 
per which  he  wore  over  his  military  boots.  He  had  made  a 
circuit  of  six  miles  to  get  there,  though — it  was  like  taking 
a  country  walk  in  order  to  cross  the  street. 

"But  no  matter!     Trust  yourself  to  Hafiz." 

He  carried  a  small  bundle  under  his  arm,  and  throwing 
it  on  a  chair,  he  said : 

"  Your  Bedouin  clothes,  my  boy — you'll  find  them  all 
right,  I  think." 

Gordon  caught  the  flame  of  his  eagerness  and  was  asking 
a  dozen  questions  at  once,  when  Hafiz  said : 


218  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  A  moment,  old  chap !  Let  us  speak  of  everything  in 
its  place.  First,"  taking  a  roll  of  bank  notes  out  of  his 
pocket,  "  here's  your  money — short  of  what  I've  spent  for 
you.     Tommy  got  it.     Couldn't  get  anything  else,  though." 

Thinking  civilian  clothes  might  be  useful,  Hafiz  had  told 
Gordon's  soldier  servant  to  smuggle  a  suit  out,  also,  but  it 
had  been  found  impossible  to  do  so. 

"  That  comes  of  taking  up  your  quarters  in  a  barracks 
instead  of  at  the  club  or  at  a  private  house,  as  staff  officers 
always  do,"  said  Hafiz,  and  when  Gordon  gave  some  hint  of 
explanation  he  added :  "  Oh,  I  know !  You  wanted  to  make 
common  cause  with  the  men,  but  now  you  have  to  pay  the 
price  of  it." 

"What  about  the  man  to  go  with  me?"  asked  Gordon. 

"  I've  got  him.  You  remember  the  two  Sheikhs  who 
went  with  us  to  Alexandria  ?    It's  one  of  them." 

His  name  was  Osman.  He  had  been  tutor  to  the  IQie- 
dive's  children,  but  ho  wished  to  become  a  teacher  of  Mo- 
hammedan law  in  the  college  at  Khartoum,  so  the  journey 
suited  his  book  exactly. 

"And  the  camels?" 

"  I've  got  them  also.  Young  ones,  too,  with  ripping  big 
humps!  They'll  want  their  humps  before  they've  crossed 
that  desert;" 

"  Where  and  when  am  I  to  meet  them,  Hafiz  ?  " 

"  At  the  first  village  beyond  the  fort  on  the  Gebel  Mokat- 
tam  at  eleven  o'clock  to-morrow  night.  But  I'll  come  for 
you  at  ten  and  see  you  safely  started." 

Gordon  looked  up  in  alarm. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  for  me.  Leave  everything  to  Hafiz. 
You  can't  depend  on  a  better  man." 

"  I'm  sure  T  can't,"  said  Gordon,  and  then  in  a  lower 
tone,  "But,  Hafiz?" 

"  Well  ? " 

"What  about  Helena?" 

"  Packed  up  and  ready  to  go.  The  Consul-General's 
Secretary  booked  her  berth  to-day,  and  she  sails,  as  I  said 
she  would,  on  Saturday." 

Next  day,  Friday,  the  hours  went  by  with  feet  of  lead. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  219 

but  Gordon's  impatience  to  get  away  from  Cairo  had  now 
begun  to  abate.  More  easily  could  he  have  reconciled  him- 
self to  go  if  Helena  had  gone  before  him,  but  to  leave  her 
behind,  if  only  for  a  few  hours,  was  like  cowardice.  Little 
by  little  his  spirit  fell  from  the  elevation  on  which  it  had 
lived  for  the  better  part  of  a  week,  and  in  the  face  of  his 
flight  he  felt  ashamed. 

Toward  nightfall,  nevertheless,  he  began  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  his  departure,  and,  opening  the  bundle  of  clothes 
which  Ilafiz  had  left  for  him,  he  found  that  they  consisted 
of  a  Bedouin's  outer  garments  only,  caftan,  skull-cap,  kufiah 
(head-shawl),  and  head- rope,  but  no  underclothing  and  no 
slippers.  This  seemed  for  a  moment  like  an  insurmountable 
difficult}',  but  at  the  next  instant,  with  the  sense  of  a  higher 
power  ruling  everything,  he  saw  the  finger  of  God  in  it,  com- 
pelling him  to  wear  his  soldier's  clothes  and  military  boots 
beneath  his  Bedouin  costixme,  lest  leaving  them  behind  him 
might  lead  to  trouble  for  the  good  people  who  had  befriended 
him. 

By  ten  o'clock  he  had  finished  his  dressing  and  then  the 
door  of  his  room  was  opened  by  a  man  in  the  flowing  silk 
garments  of  a  Sheikh,  with  the  light  of  a  smile  on  his 
chubby  face  and  a  cautionary  finger  to  his  lip. 

"Here  I  am — are  you  ready?" 

It  was  Hafiz,  tingling  with  excitement  but  chuckling 
with  joy,  and  having  looked  at  Gordon  in  his  head-shawl 
descending  to  his  shoulders,  with  the  head-rope  coiled  about 
it,  he  said : 

"  Marvellous!     Your  own  father  wouldn't  know  you." 

The  disguise  was  none  too  good,  though,  for  the  trackers 
were  keenly  on  the  trail  that  night,  having  got  it  into  their 
heads  that  Gordon  would  try  to  leave  Egypt  with  Helena  in 
the  morning. 

"  So  the  sooner  we  are  on  the  safe  side  of  the  Gebel 
Mokattam  the  better,  my  boy — one  moment,  though." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Remember — your  name  is  Omar — Omar  Benani." 

"  Omar  Benani." 

The  last  moment  having  come,  Gordon,  who  seemed  now 


220  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

to  catch  at  every  straw  that  would  delay  his  departure,  was 
unwilling  to  leave  the  house  that  had  been  his  refuge  without 
bidding  farewell  to  the  Patriarch.  Hafiz  tried  to  dissuade 
him  from  doing  so,  saying  that  the  Patriarch,  who  knew  all, 
wished  to  be  blind  to  what  was  going  on.  But  Gordon  was 
not  to  be  gainsaid,  and  after  a  while  Michael  was  called  and 
he  led  the  way  to  the  Patriarch's  room. 

The  old  man  had  just  finished  his  frugal  supper  of  spin- 
ach and  egg,  and  was  lifting  his  horn-rimmed  spectacles 
from  his  nose  to  wipe  his  rheumy  eyes  with  his  red-print 
handkerchief  when  Michael  opened  the  door. 

"  A  poor  traveller  asks  your  blessing,  Patriarch,"  said 
Michael,  and  then  Gordon,  in  his  Bedouin  costume,  stepped 
forward  and  knelt  at  the  old  priest's  feet. 

The  Patriarch  rose  and  stood  for  a  moment  with  a  look 
of  perplexity  on  his  wrinkled  face.  Then,  lending  himself 
to  the  transparent  deception,  the  saintly  old  man  laid  his 
bony  hand,  trembling  visibly,  on  Gordon's  head,  and  speak- 
ing in  a  faltering  voice,  with  breath  that  came  quickly 
through  his  toothless  jaws,  he  said : 

"  God  bless  you,  my  son,  and  send  you  safely  to  your 
journey's  end  and  to  your  own  place  and  people." 

But  seeing  at  the  next  instant  how  pathetic  was  the 
error  which  in  his  momentary  confusion  he  had  unwittingly 
made,  he  corrected  himself  and  added : 

"  Fear  not,  my  son,  neither  in  the  days  of  thy  life,  nor 
in  the  hour  of  death,  for  God  will  go  Avith  thee  and  He  will 
bring  thee  hack." 

A  moment  later  Gordon,  with  Hafiz  by  his  side,  had 
passed  out  of  the  echoing  harbour  of  the  little  cathedral 
close  into  the  running  tides  of  the  streets  without. 


XIV 

The  Coptic  Cathedral  stands  in  the  midst  of  the  most 
ancient  part  of  Cairo  and  it  is  coiled  about  by  a  cobweb  of 
close  and  narrow  thoroughfares.  Through  these  thorough- 
fares, which  are  lit  by  tin  lanterns  and  open  candles  only. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  221 

and  dense  with  a  various  throng  of  native  people — hawkers, 
pedlars,  water-carriers,  fruit-sellers,  the  shrouded  black 
forms  of  women  gliding  noiselessly  along,  and  the  blue  fig- 
ures of  men  lounging  at  coffee-stalls  or  squatting  at  the 
open  mouths  of  shops — Gordon  in  his  Bedouin  costume 
walked  with  a  long,  slow  step  and  the  indifference  to 
danger  which  he  had  learned  in  war,  while  Hafiz,  who 
was  now  quivering  with  impatience  and  trembling  with  the 
dread  of  detection,  slackened  his  speed  to  keep  pace  with 
him. 

"  Can't  we  go  faster?  "  whispered  Hafiz,  but  Gordon  did 
not  seem  to  hear.  Slowly,  steadily,  with  a  rhythmic  stride 
that  might  have  come  out  of  the  desert  itself,  he  pushed  his 
way  through  the  throng  of  town-dwellers,  always  answering 
the  pious  ejaculations  of  the  passers-by  and  returning  their 
Eastern  greetings. 

Before  Hafiz  was  aware  of  the  direction  they  were  tak- 
ing they  had  passed  out  of  the  dim-lit  native  streets,  where 
people  moved  like  shadows  in  a  mist,  into  the  coarse  flare 
of  the  Esbekiah  (the  European)  quarter,  where  multitudes 
of  men  in  Western  dress  sat  drinking  at  tables  on  the  pave- 
ment, while  girls  in  gold  brocade  and  with  painted  faces 
smiled  down  at  them  from  upper  windows. 

"Why  should  we  go  this  way?"  said  Hafi^;  in  Arabic, 
but  still  Gordon  made  no  reply. 

Two  mounted  police  who  were  standing  at  guard  by  the 
entrance  to  a  dark  alley  craned  forward  to  peer  into  their 
faces,  and  a  group  of  young  British  officers,  smoking  ciga- 
rettes on  the  balcony  of  a  hotel,  watched  them  while  they 
passed  and  broke  into  a  subdued  trill  of  laughter  when  they 
■were  gone. 

"  Are  we  not  exposing  ourselves  unnecessarily  ? "  whis- 
pered Hafiz ;  but  Gordon  only  gripped  the  hand  that  hung  by 
his  side  and  went  on  without  speaking. 

Presently  they  crossed  the  Opera  Square  and  turned 
down  an  avenue  that  led  to  the  Nile,  and  then  Hafiz's  im- 
patience could  contain  itself  no  longer. 

"  We  are  going  in  the  wrong  direction,"  he  whispered. 
"  It's  nearly  eleven  o'clock  and  Osman  is  waiting  for  us." 


222  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Come  on,"  said  Gordon,  and  he  continued  to  walk 
steadily  fon\ard. 

At  length  it  dawned  on  Hafiz  that,  in  spite  of  all  possi- 
ble consequences,  Gordon  intended  to  go  to  the  Agency 
before  he  left  Cairo,  and  having  assured  himself  that  this 
was  so,  he  began  to  pour  out  a  running  whisper  of  passion- 
ate entreaties. 

"  But,  Gordon !  My  dear  Gordon !  This  is  madness. 
It  cannot  be  done,"  he  said. 

"  It  must !  "  said  Gordon. 

"  The  trackers  will  be  there  if  they  are  anywhere." 

"  Hush !  " 

"  It  is  the  one  place  they'll  keep  watch  upon  to-night." 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Gordon  without  stopping,  and 
Hafiz  had  no  choice  but  to  follow  on. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  good  fellow,  whose  heart  was 
now  panting  in  his  throat,  walked  close  to  Gordon's  side 
and  whispered  in  a  breaking  voice: 

"  If  you  have  any  message  to  send  to  your  mother  I'll 
take  it — I'll  take  it  after  you  are  gone." 

"  I  must  see  her  myself,"  said  Gordon,  and  then  Hafiz 
could  say  no  more. 

They  passed  through  populous  places  into  thoroughfares 
that  were  less  and  less  crowded,  and  came  out  at  last  by 
the  barracks  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile.  ,  There  the  broad 
street  was  empty  and  silent,  and  the  white  moonlight  lay 
over  the  river,  which  flowed  like  liquid  steel.  Under  the 
dark  window  of  his  own  quarters  Gordon  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, for  it  was  the  spot  on  which  he  had  first  seen  Helena. 
He  could  see  it  still  as  he  saw  it  then,  with  its  tide  of  clam- 
orous traffic  from  the  bridge — the  camels,  the  cameleers,  the 
blue-shirted  fellaheen,  the  w^omen  with  tattooed  chins  and 
children  astride  on  their  shoulders,  and  then  the  girl  driv- 
ing the  automobile,  with  the  veil  of  white  chiffon  about  her 
head  and  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  sunset  kissing  her  upturned 
face  as  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  look  at  him. 

Hafiz  was  choking  with  emotion  by  this  time,  but  his 
sense  of  Gordon's  danger  came  uppermost  again  when  they 
turned  into  the  road  that  led  to  the  Consul-General's  house 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  223 

and  caught  sight  of  a  group  of  men  who  were  standing  at 
the  gate. 

"  There  they  are,"  he  whispered.  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ? 
Let  us  go  back,  Gordon,  I  implore  you!  I  entreat  you! 
By  all  you  love  and  who  love  you " 

"  Come  on,"  said  Gordon  again,  and,  though  quaking 
with  fear,  Hafiz  continued  to  walk  by  his  side. 

There  were  only  three  men  at  the  gate  of  the  Agency 
and  two  of  them  were  the  native  porters  of  the  house,  but 
the  third  w^as  a  lean  and  lank  Soudanese,  who  carried  by  a 
cord  about  his  neck  a  small  round  lantern  whereof  the  light 
was  turned  against  his  breast.  A  cold  glitter  in  the  black 
man's  eyes  was  like  the  gleam  of  a  dagger  to  Hafiz,  but 
Gordon  paid  no  heed  to  it.  He  saluted  the  porters,  saying  he 
had  come  to  see  Ibrahim,  the  Consul-General's  servant,  and 
then  without  waiting  for  permission,  he  walked  through. 

Hafiz  followed  him  into  the  garden,  where  the  moonlight 
lay  over  the  silent  trees  and  made  blotches  of  shadow  on 
the  path. 

"  Stay  here,"  he  said,  and  leaving  Hafiz  in  the  darkness 
he  stepped  up  to  the  door. 

Ibrahim  himself  opened  it,  and  the  moment  he  had  done 
so,  Gordon  entered  the  outer  hall. 

"  Tell  Fatimah  I  come  from  her  son  and  wish  to  see  her 
at  once,"  he  said. 

Ibrahim  looked  searchingly  at  the  stranger  and  a  shade 
of  doubt  and  anger  crossed  his  face. 

"  I  can't  do  that,  my  man,"  he  answered. 

"  Why  can't  you  ?  "  asked  Gordon. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Ibrahim. 

There  was  a  little  lodge  at  the  right  of  the  hall  where 
visitors  to  the  Consul-General  wrote  their  names  in  a  book. 
Into  this  lodge  Gordon  drew  Ibrahim- by  the  arm  and  whis- 
pered a  few  hasty  words  in  his  ear.  The  man's  lips  whitened 
and  quivered  in  an  instant  and  he  began  to  stutter  and 
stammer  in  his  fright. 

"  Are  5'ou,  then — can  it  be — is  it  really " 

"Hush!  Yes.  Ibrahim,"  said  Gordon.  "I  wish  to  see 
my  mother." 


224  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Ibrahim  began  to  wring  his  hands.  It  was  impossible. 
Yes,  impossible.     Quite  impossible.     Her  ladyship  was  ill. 

"111?" 

"  She  went  up  to  the  Citadel  yesterday,  sir,  and  eame 
home  utterly  exhausted." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  my  mother  is  very  ill — dangerously 
ill,  Ibrahim?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.     I  can't  say,  sir.     I  fear  she  is,  sir," 

"  Then  all  the  more  I  wish  to  see  her,"  said  Gordon. 

But  again  Ibrahim  wrung  his  hands.  The  doctor  had 
been  there  four  times  that  day  and  ordered  absolute  rest 
and  quiet.  Only  Fatimah  was  permitted  to  enter  the  pa- 
tient's room — except  the  Consul-General  and  he  went  up  to 
it  every  hour. 

"  It  would  be  a  shock  to  her,  sir.  It  might  kill  her,  sir. 
Wallahi!     I  beg  of  you  not  to  attempt  it,  sir." 

Ibrahim  was  right,  plainly  right,  but  never  until  that 
moment  had  Gordon  known  the  full  bitterness  of  the  cup 
he  had  to  drink  from.  Because  his  mother  was  ill,  danger- 
ously ill,  dying  perhaps,  therefore  he  must  not  see  her — he 
of  all  others!  He  was  going  far  and  might  never  see 
her  again.  Was  another  blank  wall  to  be  built  about 
his  life?  It  was  monstrous,  it  was  impossible,  it  should 
not  be! 

In  the  agony  of  his  revolt  a  wild  thought  came  to  him 
— he  would  see  his  father!  "Why  not?  Back  to  his  memory 
across  the  bridge  of  so  many  years  came  the  words  which 
his  father  had  written  to  him  when  he  came  of  age:  "You 
are  twenty-one  years  of  age,  Gordon,  and  your  mother  and 
I  have  beeen  recalling  the  incidents  of  the  day  on  which 
you  were  bom —  From  this  day  forward  I  am  no  longer 
your  father;  I  am  your  friend;  perhaps  the  best  friend  you 
■will  ever  have;  let  nothing  and  no  one  come  between  us." 
Then  why  not?    What  was  there  to  be  afraid  of? 

"  Ibrahim,"  said  Gordon,  "  where  is  the  Consul-General 
now?" 

"In  the  library  with  his  secretary,  sir,"  replied  Ibrahim. 

"  Then  tell  him — "  began  Gordon,  but  just  at  that  mo- 
ment there  was  a  flat  and  deadened  step  on  the  soft  carpet 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  225 

of  the  landing  above,  and  then  a  cold  voice  that  chilled  his 
ear  came  from  the  upper  hall. 

"  Ibrahim !  " 

It  was  the  Consul-General  himself  with  a  letter  in  his 
hand. 

"Hush!"  said  Ibrahim,  and,  leaving  the  lodge,  he  walked 
up  the  three  or  four  steps  to  meet  his  master. 

"  Take  this  to  the  office  of  the  Commandant  of  Police — 
take  it  yourself  and  see  it  safely  delivered." 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  If  the  Commandant  has  gone  home  for  the  night  you 
will  ask  for  his  Deputy  and  say  my  answer  is :  '  Yes,  I  let 
nothing  come  between  me  and  the  law.  If  you  suspect  that 
the  person  you  refer  to  is  still  in  Cairo,  you  will  deal  with 
him  as  you  would  deal  with  anybody  else.'  You  understand 
me?" 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Ibrahim,  but  he  was  staring  stu- 
pidly at  the  letter  as  if  he  had  lost  his  wits. 

"  Who  is  that  in  the  lodge  with  you  ?  "  asked  the  Consul- 
General,  and  then  Ibrahim,  fumbling  the  letter  until  it 
almost  fell  out  of  his  fingers,  seemed  unable  to  reply. 

The  wild  thought  had  gone  from  Gordon  by  this  time 
and  he  said  in  a  voice  which  he  did  not  recognise  as  his  own, 
"  Tell  Fatimah  that  her  brother  will  come  again  to  see  her," 
and  then,  feeling  ashamed  of  his  sorry  masquerade,  and  less 
than  a  servant  in  his  father's  house,  he  stumbled  out  into 
the  garden. 

Hafiz  was  waiting  for  him  there  and  he  was  in  a  state 
of  still  greater  terror  than  before.  The  moment  Gordon  had 
gone  a  light  footstep,  trying  to  make  itself  noiseless,  had 
come  crackling  over  the  gravel  from  the  direction  of  the 
gate.  It  was  that  of  the  Soudanese  and  he  had  crept  along 
the  path  like  a  serpent,  half  doubled  up  and  with  his  eyes 
and  his  lantern  to  the  ground.  After  a  while  he  had  re- 
turned to  where  he  came  from,  and  Hafiz  had  followed  him, 
walking  stealthily  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  in  order  to 
hear  what  he  had  to  say.  "  Your  Bedouin  is  a  child  of 
Cairo  and  his  boots  were  made  in  England,"  he  had  said, 
and  then  chuckling  to  himself  he  had  hurried  away. 


226  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Are  you  wearing  your  military  boots,  Gordon  ?  Did 
you  forget  the  slippers?  Or  was  it  Osman  who  forgot 
them?  It  can't  be  helped,  though.  The  man  was  a  tracker 
— I  told  you  so — and  now  he  has  gone  for  the  others  and  we 
shall  be  followed  by  the  whole  troop  of  them.  Let  us 
be  off." 

But  still  Gordon  was  in  no  hurry  to  go.  The  sense 
of  stealing  like  a  stranger  from  a  spot  that  was  dear 
to  him  by  a  thousand  memories  seemed  to  be  more  than 
he  could  bear.  Leaving  Ilafiz  on  the  path,  he  went  round 
the  house  until  he  reached  a  place  from  which  he  could 
see  the  light  in  his  mother's  window.  His  mother,  his 
sweet  and  sainted  mother,  innocent  of  everything,  yet  the 
victim  of  all !  God  forgive  him !  Was  it  worth  while  to 
go  away  at  all  ?  A  gentle  breeze  had  risen  by  this  time 
and  Hafiz  was  starting  at  every  leaf  that  rustled  over  his 
head. 

When  at  length  they  had  left  the  Agency  they  were 
goipg  in  the  right  direction,  but  Gordon  was  once  more 
choosing  the  lighter  and  more  crowded  thoroughfares. 
Again  the  hawkers,  the  pedlars,  the  water-carriers,  the 
shrouded  black  forms  of  women  and  the  blue  figures  of  men. 
Again  the  salutations,  the  pious  ejaculations,  the  silent 
Eastern  greetings.  It  was  almost  as  if  Gordon  were  tempt- 
ing Providence,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  leave  time  for  the 
trackers  to  overtake  him. 

"  Every  moment  we  lose  fills  me  with  fear.  Can't  we  go 
faster  now?"  whispered  Hafiz  in  English,  but  Gordon  con- 
tinued to  walk  with  the  same  even  stop. 

"  I  know  it  might  look  like  fright  and  arouse  suspicion, 
but  still " 

As  often  as  he  dared  to  do  so  Hafiz  looked  back  to  see 
if  they  were  pursued. 

"  Nothing  in  sight  yet — God  has  delivered  us  thus  far 
— but  must  we  walk  so  slow?" 

In  the  agony  of  his  impatience  every  noise  in  the  streets 
was  like  the  sound  of  a  pursuer.  If  a  boy  shouted  to  his 
playmate  he  shuddered ;  if  a  hawker  yelled  over  his  tray  he 
trembled.    When  they  had  passed  out  of  the  busy  thorough- 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  227 

fares  into  the  darker  streets,  where  watchmen  call  to  each 
other  through  the  hours  of  the  night,  the  cry  of  a  ghafir  far 
ahead  ("  Wahhed !  ")  seemed  to  Ilafiz  like  the  bay  of  a  blood- 
hound, and  the  answer  of  another  close  behind  was  like  the 
shrill  voice  of  some  one  who  was  pouncing  upon  his 
shoulders. 

"  It  would  be  a  pity  to  be  taken  now — at  the  last  mo- 
ment, too,"  he  whispered,  and  he  strained  his  ear  to  catch 
the  faintest  sound  of  footsteps  behind  them. 

After  that  no  more  was  said  until  they  came  to  the  open 
space  under  the  heights  of  the  Citadel  where  one  path  goes 
up  to  the  Mokattam  hills  and  another  crosses  the  arid  land 
that  lies  on  the  east  bank  of  the  ISTile.  Then  suddenly 
Hafiz,  who  had  been  panting  and  gasping,  began  to  laugh 
and  crow. 

"  I  know  what  we've  got  to  do,"  he  said.  "  Good  Lord 
alive,  why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before?" 

With  that  he  stooped  and  whipped  off  the  slippers  he 
wore  over  his  boots  and  called  on  Gordon  to  hold  up  his 
foot. 

"What  for?"  asked  Gordon. 

"  I  have  a  reason — a  good  one.  Hold  up !  The  other 
one !     Quick !  " 

In  a  moment  the  slippers  he  had  taken  off  his  own  boots 
had  been  pulled  over  Gordon's. 

"  Eight !  And  now,  my  dear  Gordon,  you  and  I  are 
going  to  part  company." 

"Here?"  said  Gordon. 

"  Yes,  here,"  said  Hafiz,  and  then,  pointing  with  one 
hand  to  the  hill  and  with  the  other  to  the  waste,  he  said : 
"  You  are  going  that  way — I  am  going  this." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Why  ?  Do  you  ask  me  why  ?  Because  the  trackers 
are  after  us — because  they  may  be  here  at  any  moment — 
because  they  know  there  are  two  of  us,  but  when  they  find 
we  have  separated  they'll  follow  up  the  man  who  wears  the 
military  boots." 

"  Hafiz !  " 

"  Well,  I  wear  them,  don't  I?  " 


228  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

"  Do  you  mean  it,  Hafiz — that  you  are  going  to  turn  the 
trackers  onto  yourself  ?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  Lord  God,  what  can  they  do  to 
me?  If  they  catch  me  I'll  only  laugh  in  their  dirty  black 
faces.  I'll  give  them  a  run  before  that,  though.  Bedrashen, 
Sakkara,  Mena,  Gizoh — a  man  wants  some  fun  after  a 
night  like  this,  you  know." 

He  was  laughing  as  if  he  were  beside  himself  with 
excitement. 

"  By  that  time  you'll  be  far  away  from  here,  please 
God !  Six  hours  at  least — I'll  see  it's  six,  Gordon — six 
hours'  start  on  good  camels — across  the  desert,  too — and  not 
a  black  devil  of  them  all  to  know  what  the  dickens  has 
become  of  you." 

His  fear  was  as  gi'eat  as  ever,  but  it  had  suddenly 
become  heroic. 

"Hafiz!"  said  Gordon.  His  voice  was  faltering  and  he 
was  holding  out  both  hands,  but  Hafiz,  unable  to  trust  him- 
self, was  pretending  not  to  hear  or  see. 

"  Ko  time  to  lose,  though !  Time  is  life,  brother,  and 
you  mustn't  stay  here  a  moment  longer.  Over  the  hill — 
first  village  beyond  the  fort — Osman  will  be  waiting  for 
you." 

"  Hafiz !  " 

"  Can't  wait  for  farewells,  Gordon.  Besides,  you're  not 
going  for  good,  you  know.  Lord  no,  not  a  bit  of  it !  You'll 
come  back  some  day — Ishmael  too — and  then  there'll  be  the 
deuce  to  pay  by  some  of  them." 

He  was  running  a  few  paces  away,  then  stepping  back 
again. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  ?  I'm  going,  anyway !  It's  a  race 
for  life  or  death  to-niglit,  my  boy!  Such  fun!  I'll  beat 
the  brutes!  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  leave  everything  to  Hafiz? 
I  said  you  couldn't  depend  on  a  better  man." 

"  Hafiz !  " 

"  Good-night,  old  chap  !  Good-night.  Charlie  !  Charlie 
Gordon  Lord  has  been  a  good  old  chum  to  me,  but  damn 
it  all,  I'm  going  to  be  quits  with  him!  " 

With  that  he  went  bounding  away,  laughing  and  crying- 


THE    SHADOW   OF   THE    SWORD  229 

and  swearing  and  sobbing  at  the  same  time,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment he  had  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 


XV 

Being  left  alone,  Gordon  looked  i;p  at  the  Citadel  and 
saw  that  a  light  was  burning  in  the  window  of  Helena's 
sitting  room.  That  sight  brought  back  the  choking  sense 
of  shame  which  he  had  felt  some  days  before  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  Helena  behind  him. 

"  I  cannot  go  without  seeing  her,"  he  thought.  "  It  is 
impossible — utterly  impossible." 

Then  back  to  his  mind,  as  by  flashes  of  mental  light- 
ning, came  one  by  one  the  reasons  which  he  had  forged  for 
not  seeing  Helena,  but  they  were  all  of  no  avail.  In  vain 
did  he  ask  himself  Avhat  he  was  to  say  to  her,  how  he  was 
to  account  for  his  past  silence,  and  what  explanation  he 
was  to  give  of  his  present  flight.  There  was  no  answer  to 
these  questions,  yet  all  the  same  an  irresistible  impulse 
seemed  to  draw  him  up  to  Helena's  side.  He  must  see  her 
again,  no  matter  at  what  risk.  He  must  take  her  in  his 
arms  once  more,  no  matter  at  what  cost. 

"  I  must,  I  must,"  he  continued  to  say  to  himself,  while 
the  same  animal  instinct  which  had  carried  him  away  from 
the  Citadel  on  the  night  of  the  crime  was  now  carrying  him 
back  to  it. 

Almost  before  his  mind  had  time  to  tell  him  where  he 
was  going  he  found  himself  ascending  the  hill  that  leads 
up  to  the  Bab-el-Gedid.  The  sight  of  the  gate  of  the 
Citadel  suggested  fresh  considerations  that  might  have 
acted  as  Avarnings,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  them.  It  was 
nothing  to  him  in  his  present  mood  that  he  was  like  a  man 
who  was  putting  his  head  into  a  noose,  walking  deliberately 
into  a  trap,  marching  straight  into  the  camp  of  the  enemy 
whose  first  interest  it  was  to  destroy  him.  The  image  of 
Helena  and  the  sense  of  her  presence  so  near  to  him  left 
little  else  to  think  about. 

The  gate  was  still  open,  for  it  was  not  yet  twelve  o'clock, 
16 


230  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

aud  in  deference  to  the  ritual  of  the  Moslem  faith,  the 
muezzin,  who  lived  outside  the  walls,  was  permitted  to  pass 
through  that  he  might  chant  the  midnight  call  to  prayers 
from  the  minaret  of  the  mosque  inside  the  fortress. 

"  Goin'  to  sing  'is  bloomin'  song,  I  suppose,"  thought 
the  sentry,  a  private  of  a  Middlesex  regiment,  when  Gordon, 
as  one  having  authority,  walked  boldly  through  the  gate- 
way. 

Being  now  within  the  Citadel,  Gordon  began  to  be  be- 
sieged by  thoughts  of  the  trackers  who  would  surely  keep 
watch  upon  the  General's  house  also,  if,  as  Hafiz  had  said, 
there  was  a  suspicion  that  Helena  and  he  intended  to  go 
away  together.  But  again  the  vision  of  Helena  rose  before 
him  and  all  other  considerations  were  swept  away. 

"  To  leave  Cairo  while  Helena  remains  in  it  would  be 
cowardly,"  he  told  himself,  and  emboldened  by  this  thought 
he  walked  fearlessly  across  the  square  of  the  mosque  and 
round  the  old  arsenal  to  the  gate  of  the  General's  house 
without  caring  whom  he  met  there. 

He  met  no  one.  The  gate  was  standing  wide  and  the 
door  of  the  house  itself,  when  he  came  to  it,  was  open  also 
and  there  was  nobody  anj-where  about.  "With  a  gathering 
sense  of  shame  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before  he  stood 
there  for  a  moment,  wondering  what  course  he  ought  to 
take,  whether  to  ring  for  a  servant  or  to  walk  through  as 
he  had  been  wont  to  do  before  the  dread  events  befell.  Sud- 
denly the  walls  of  the  house  within  resounded  to  a  peal  of 
raucous  laughter,  followed  by  a  burst  of  noisy  voices  in 
coarse  and  clamorous  talk. 

Utterly  bewildered,  he  stepped  forward  in  the  direction 
of  Helena's  boudoir  and  then  he  realised  that  that  was  the 
room  the  voices  came  from.  After  a  moment  of  uncer- 
tainty he  knocked,  Avhereupon  somebody  shouted  to  him  in 
Arabic  to  enter,  and  then  he  opened  the  door. 

Helena's  servants,  being  paid  off,  and  required  to  leave 
the  house  in  the  morning,  had  invited  certain  of  their 
friends  and  made  a  feast  for  them.  Squatting  on  the  floor, 
around  a  huge  brass  tray,  which  contained  a  lamb  roasted 
whole  and  various  smaller  dishes,   they  were  now   regaling 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  231 

themselves  after  the  manner  of  their  kind  with  the  last 
contents  of  the  General's  larder,  washed  down  by  many 
pious  speeches  and  by  stories  less  devotional. 

"A  little  more,  oh,  my  brother?" 

"  No ;  thanks  be  to  God,  I  have  eaten  well." 

"  Then  by  the  beard  of  the  Prophet — on  whom  prayer  and 
praise — coffee  and  cigarettes  and  the  tale  of  the  little  danc- 
ing girl." 

At  the  height  of  their  deafening  merriment  the  door  of 
the  room  opened  and  a  man  in  Bedouin  dress  sto9d  upon 
the  threshold,  and  then  there  was  silence. 

Gordon  stood  for  a  moment  in  amazement  at  sight  of 
this  coarse  scene  on  a  spot  associated  with  so  many  delicate 
memories.     Then  he  said : 

"You  don't  happen  to  know  if — if  the  boy  Mosie  is 
about  ? " 

"  Gone !  "  shouted  several  voices  at  once. 

"Gone?" 

"Yes,  gone,  O  Sheikh,"  said  one  of  the  men — he  was 
the  cook — pausing  to  speak  with  a  piece  of  meat  between 
his  finger  and  thumb,  halfway  to  his  mouth.  "Mosie  has 
gone  to  England  with  the  lady  Helena.  They  left  here  at 
six  o'clock  to  catch  the  night  train  to  Alexandria,  so  as  to 
be  in  good  time  for  to-morrow's  steamer." 

Gordon  stood  a  moment  longer,  looking  down  at  the 
grinning  faces  about  the  tray,  and  then,  with  various  apol- 
ogies and  after  many  answering  salaams,  he  closed  the  door 
behind  him,  whereupon  he  heard  the  buzz  of  renewed  con- 
versation within  the  room,  followed  by  another  but  more 
subdued  burst  of  laughter. 

Alone  in  the  corridor,  he  asked  himself  why,  since 
Helena  was  gone,  he  had  been  brought  back  to  this  place. 
Was  it  for  punishment,  for  penance?  It  must  have  been 
so.  "All  that  had  to  be  expiated,"  he  told  himself,  and 
then  he  turned  to  go. 

But  walking  through  the  outer  hall  he  had  to  pass  the 
door  of  the  General's  oiEce,  and  thinking  it  would  be  a  sort 
of  penance  to  enter  the  room  itself,  he  persuaded  himself  to 
do  so. 


232  THE    ^VHITE    PROPHET 

The  room  seemed  naked  and  dead  now,  being  denuded 
of  the  little  personal  things  that  had  made  it  live.  It  was 
dark,  too,  save  for  a  ray  of  light  that  came  from  a  lamp 
outside,  but  the  first  thing  that  met  Gordon's  eyes  was  the 
spot  on  which  the  General  fell.  He  forced  himself  to  look 
at  that  spot;  for  some  moments  he  compelled  himself  to 
stand  by  it,  though  his  hair  rose  from  his  crown  and  beads 
of  perspiration  broke  from  his  forehead. 

"  All  that  had  to  be  expiated,"  he  told  himself  again, 
and  again  he  turned  to  go. 

But  back  in  the  hall  he  was  on  the  spot  where  he  had 
last  parted  from  Helena  and  there  a  new  penance  awaited 
him.  He  remembered  that  in  the  hideous  moment  when  he 
had  tried  in  vain  to  reply  to  her  reproaches  he  had  been 
telling  himself  that  if  she  loved  him  as  he  loved  her  she 
would  be  trying  to  see  things  with  his  eyes.  That  thought 
had  helped  him  to  leave  her  then,  but  it  brought  him  no 
comfort  now.  Why  had  he  not  seen  that  the  girl's  love  was 
fighting  Avith  her  pride  ?  Why  had  he  not  followed  her  into 
the  house  when  in  her  pleading,  sobbing  voice  she  had 
called  after  him? 

"  Yes,  everything  had  to  be  expiated,"  he  told  himself, 
and  once  more  he  turned  to  go.   . 

But  passing  through  the  garden  he  caught  sight  of  the 
arbour  on  the  edge  of  the  ramparts,  and  it  seemed  to  him. 
that  the  deepest  penance  of  all  would  be  to  stand  for  an  in- 
stant on  that  loved  spot.  Giving  himself  no  quarter,  abat- 
ing nothing  of  the  bitterness  of  his  expiation,  drinking  to 
the  dregs  the  cup  that  fate  had  forced  to  his  lips,  he  entered 
the  arbour  and  there  the  image  of  the  girl  he  had  loved,  the 
girl  he  still  loved,  rose  most  vividly  of  all  before  him. 

He  could  almost  feel  her  bodily  presence  by  his  side — 
the  gleam  of  her  eyes,  the  odour  of  her  hair,  the  heaving 
of  her  bosom.  He  could  see  the  caressing  smile  that  broke 
from  her  face,  he  could  hear  the  freshness  of  her  ringing 
laugh.  Her  proud  strength  and  self-reliance;  her  energy 
and  grace ;  her  passionate  daring  and  chivalry  and  the  gay 
raillery  that  was  her  greatest  charm — everything  that  was 
Helena  appeared  to  be  about  him  now. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  233 

"Love  is  above  everything — 1  shall  only  think  of  that," 
she  had  said. 

The  moon  was  shining,  the  leaves  were  rustling,  the 
silvery  haze  of  night-dew  was  in  the  near  air,  while  the 
lights  of  the  city  were  blinking  below  and  the  river  was 
flowing  silently  beyond.  How  often  on  such  a  night  had 
he  walked  on  the  ramparts  with  Helena  leaning  closely  on 
his  arm  and  springing  lightly  by  his  side!  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  he  had  only  to  turn  his  head  and  he  would  see 
her  there,  with  her  light  scarf  over  her  head  and  crossed 
under  her  chin  and  thrown  over  her  shoulders. 

"  Could  nothing  separate  you  and  me  ?  "  she  had  asked, 
and  he  had  answered,  "  Nothing  in  this  world." 

His  grief  was  crushing.  It  was  of  that  kind,  unequalled 
for  bitterness  and  sweetness  combined,  which  comes  to  the 
strong  man  who  has  been  robbed  of  the  woman  he  loves  by 
a  fate  more  cruel  than  death.  Helena  was  not  dead,  and 
when  he  thought  of  her  on  her  way  to  England  while  he 
was  a  homeless  wanderer  in  the  desert,  shut  out  from  love 
and  friendship,  the  practice  of  his  profession,  and  the  prog- 
ress of  the  world,  the  pain  of  his  position  was  almost  more 
than  he  could  bear. 

After  a  while  he  was  brought  back  to  himself  by  another 
burst  of  raucous  laughter — the  laughter  of  the  servants  in- 
side the  house — and  at  the  next  moment  he  saw  a  light 
running  along  the  ground  in  the  dark  market-place  below 
— the  light  of  the  trackers  who  were  going  off  on  the  wrong 
scent  with  a  company  of  mounted  police  in  the  direction 
taken  by  Hafiz. 


XVI 

Gordon  left  the  Citadel  unchallenged  and  unobserved 
and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  he  was  climbing  the  yellow 
road — white  now  in  the  moonlight — that  goes  up  to  the 
Mokattam  hills.  By  this  time  he  was  beginning  to  see  the 
meaning  of  that  night's  experience.  Unconsciously  he  had 
been  putting  Providence  to  the  proof.     Unwittingly  he  had 


234  THE    WIIlTf:    PROPHET 

been  asking  the  fates  to  say  if  the  path  he  had  marked  out 
for  himself  had  been  the  right  one  when  he  had  decided  to 
follow  Ishmael  Ameer  to  Khartoum,  to  work  by  his  side, 
and  to  come  back  at  last  when  his  sin  had  been  forgiven 
and  his   redemption  won. 

Providence  had  decided  in  his  favour.  If  destiny  had 
determined  that  he  should  not  leave  Cairo  he  might  have 
been  taken  a  hundred  times.  Because  he  had  not  been 
taken  it  was  clear  to  him  that  it  was  intended  that  he 
should  go. 

He  had  tried  to  see  his  mother,  and  if  he  could  have 
done  so  he  must  have  stayed  with  her  at  all  hazards,  since 
she  was  so  ill  and  perhaps  so  near  to  death.  He  had  tried 
to  see  Helena,  also,  and  if  she  had  not  gone  to  England 
already  he  must  have  clung  to  her  at  all  costs  and  in  spite 
of  all  consequences.  On  the  other  hand  he  had  seen  his 
father  and  heard  from  his  very  lips  that  nothing — not  even 
the  liberty  or  yet  the  life  of  his  own  son — could  stand  be- 
tween him  and  his  duty  to  the  law. 

What  did  it  mean  that  he  should  be  so  cut  off,  so 
stripped  naked,  so  deprived  of  his  place  as  son  and  lover 
and  soldier  and  man  that  all  that  had  hitherto  stood  to  him 
as  himself,  as  Gordon  Lord,  was  gone?  It  meant  that 
another  existence  was  before  him;  another  work,  another 
mission.  Destiny  was  carrying  him  away  from  his  former 
life  and  he  had  only  to  go  forward  without  fear. 

Thus  once  again  on  the  heights  of  his  great  resolve  he 
pushed  on  with  a  quick  step,  not  daring  to  look  back  lest 
the  sense  of  seeing  things  for  the  last  time  should  be  more 
than  he  could  bear,  lest  the  thought  of  leaving  the  city  he 
loved,  the  people  who  loved  him,  his  men  and  his  brother 
officers,  his  mother  and  the  rnemoiy  of  his  happiness  with 
Helena,  his  father  and  the  consciousness  of  having  wrecked 
the  hopes  of  a  lifetime,  should  drag  him  back  at  the  last 
moment. 

In  the  midst  of  these  emotions  he  was  startled  by  a  loud 
sharp  voice  that  was  without  and  not  within  him. 

"  Enta  min  ?  "     (Who  are  you  ?) 

Then  he  realised  that  he  had  reached  the  fort  on  the 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  235 

top  of  the  hill,  and  that  the  Egyptian  sentry  at  the  gate 
was  challenging  him.  For  a  moment  he  stood  speechless, 
trying  in  vain  to  remember  the  name  by  which  he  was 
henceforward  to  be  known. 

"Who  are  you?"  cried  the  sentry  again,  and  then  Gor- 
don answered: 

"  Omar." 

"Omar — what?"  cried  the  sentry. 

Again  Gordon  was  speechless  for  a  moment. 

"  Answer,"  cried  the  sentry,  and  he  raised  his  rifle  to 
his  shoulder. 

"  Omar  Benani  the  Bedouin,"  said  Gordon  at  last,  and 
then  the  sentry  lowered  his  gun. 

"  Pass,  Omar  Benani.     All's  well!" 

But  Gordon  had  a  still  greater  surprise  in  store  for  him. 
As  he  was  going  on  he  became  aware  that  the  Egyptian 
soldier  was  walking  by  his  side  and  speaking  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Have  thoy  taken  him  ?  "  he  was  saying. 

"  Taken  whom  ?  "  asked  Gordon, 

"  Our  English  brother — the  Colonel — Colonel  Lord. 
Have  they  arrested  him  ?  " 

It  was  not  at  first  that  Gordon  could  command  his  voice 
to  reply,  but  at  length  he  said : 

"  Not  yet — not  when  I  came  out  of  Cairo." 

"  El  Hamdullillah  (Praise  be  to  God)  !  "  said  the  sentry, 
and  then  in  a  louder  voice  he  cried : 

"Peace  to  you,  O  brother!"  whereupon  Gordon  an- 
swered as  well  as  he  could  for  the  thickening  of  his  throat 
which  seemed  to  stifle  him. 

"  And  to  you  !  " 

More  sure  than  ever  now  that  God's  hand  was  leading 
him,  he  walked  on  with  a  quicker  step  than  before,  and 
presently  he  saw  in  the  distance  a  dark  group  which  he  rec- 
ognised as  Osman  and  the  camels. 

"Allah  be  praised,  you've  come  at  last,"  whispered 
Osman. 

He  was  a  bright  and  intelligent  young  Egyptian  and 
for  the  last  hour  he  had  lived  in  a  fever  of  alarm,  thinking 
Gordon  must  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  police. 


236  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  They  got  wind  that  you  were  hiding  at  the  Coptic 
Patriarch's  house,"  he  said,  "  and  were  only  waiting  for 
the  permission  of  the  Agency  to  raid  it  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"  I  left  it  at  ten,"  said  Gordon. 

"  Thank  God  for  that,  sir,"  said  Osnian.  "  The  Prophet 
must  have  taken  a  love  for  you  to  carry  you  off  so  soon. 
We  must  start  away  now,  though,"  he  whispered.  "  It's 
past  twelve  and  the  village  is  fast  asleep!" 

"Is  everything  ready?"  asked  Gordon. 

"  Everything — water,  biscuits,  dates,  durah,  rifles " 

"Rifles?" 

"Why  not,  sir?  Two  good  Bedouin  flintlocks.  Even 
if  we  never  have  occasion  to  use  them  they'll  help  us  to 
divert  suspicion." 

"  Let  us  be  off,  then,"  said  Gordon. 

"  Good,"  said  Osman.  "  If  we  can  only  get  away  quietly 
our  journey  will  be  as  white  as  milk." 

In  the  shadow  of  a  high  wall  the  camels  sat  munching 
their  food  under  their  saddles  covered  with  green  cloth  and 
decorated  with  fringes  of  cowries,  and  with  their  sahharahs 
(square  boxes  for  provisions)  hanging  on  either  side.  They 
were  restive  when  they  had  to  rise  and  it  was  as  much  as 
Osman  could  do  to  keep  them  from  grunting,  being  so  fresh 
and  so  full  of  corn.  But  he  held  their  mouths  closed  until 
they  were  on  their  feet  and  then  mounted  his  own  camel 
by  climbing  on  its  neck.  A  moment  afterward  the  good 
creatures  were  gliding"  swiftly  away  into  the  obscurity  of 
the  night,  Avith  their  upturned  steadfast  faces,  their  noise- 
less tread  and  swinging  motion. 

Both  men  were  accustomed  to  camel  riding  and  both 
knew  the  track  before  them,  therefore  they  lost  no  time  in 
getting  under  way.  The  first  village  was  soon  left  be- 
hind, and  as  they  came  near  to  other  hamlets  the  howling 
of  dogs  warned  them  of  their  danger  and  they  skirted 
round  and  quickened  their  pace. 

A  little  beyond  Ilelwan  they  came  upon  a  Bedouin 
camp  with  its  long  irregular  dark  tents  and  an  open  fire 
around  which  a  company  of  men  sat  talking,  but  Gordon 
pushed  forward  with  his  flintlock  swung  across  his  saddle- 


THE   SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  237 

bow,  -while  Osman,  thinking  to  avoid  suspicion,  hung  back 
for  a  moment  to  exchange  news  and  greetings. 

Then  on  and  on  they  went,  up  and  down  the  yellow  hillg,. 
across  sandy  plains  that  were  still  warm  with  the  heat  of 
the  day,  and  over  rocky  gorges  that  seemed  to  echo  a  hun- 
dred times  to  the  softest  footfall. 

In  less  than  three  hours  they  were  out  on  the  open  des- 
ert, lonely  and  grand,  without  a  soul  or  yet  a  sound,  save; 
the  faint  thud  of  the  camel's  tread  on  the  sand  and  the  dice- 
like rattle  of  the  cowries  that  hung  from  the  saddles. 

"Allah  l-halasna!  God  has  delivered  us,"  said  Osman 
at  last,  as  he  wiped  the  cold  sweat  of  fear  from  his  forehead. 

But  never  for  a  moment  had  Gordon  felt  afraid.  No 
more  now  than  before  did  he  know  what  fate  was  before 
him,  but  if  a  pillar  of  fire  had  appeared  in  the  dark  blue 
sky  he  could  not  have  been  more  sure  that — sinful  man  as 
lie  was — God's  light  was  leading  him. 

He  had  fallen  in  the  dark,  but  he  was  about  to  rise 
again.  God's  wrath  had  burned  against  him,  but  he  was 
soon  to  be  forgiven.  After  the  emotions  and  experiences  of 
that  night  he  knew  of  a  certainty  that  the  path  he  had 
chosen  was  the  path  which  it  was  intended  that  he  should 
take.  Somewhere — he  knew  not  where — and  somehow — he 
knew  not  how — Heaven  had  uses  for  him  still. 

As  he  rode  over  the  sandy  waste  it  became  fixed  in  his 
mind  that  being  rejected  by  all  the  world  now,  and  stripped 
of  everything  that  man  holds  dear,  it  was  meant  by  God 
that  he  should  offer  his  life  in  some  great  cause.  That 
thought  did  not  terrify  him  at  all.  It  delighted  and  in- 
spired him,  and  stirred  every  passion  of  the  soldier  in  his 
soul. 

To  be,  perhaps,  a  link  between  East  and  West,  to  carry 
the  white  man's  burden  into  the  black  man's  country  for 
higher  ends  than  greed  of  wealth  or  lust  of  empire,  he 
would  die,  if  need  be,  a  thousand  deaths. 

How  did  he   come  to   think   of  this  as  the  fate  before 

him?     Who  can  know?    Who  can  say?     There  are  moments 

when  man  feels  the  influence  of  invisible  powers  which  it 

is   equally  impossible   to   explain  and   to   control.      Such   a 

17 


238  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

moment  was  this  to  Gordon.  He  was  flying  away  as  a 
homeless  fugitive,  yet  he  was  going  with  a  full  heart  and 
a  high  resolve.  Somewhere  his  great  hour  waited  for  him 
— somewhere  and  somehow — he  could  only  follow  and  obey. 
But  meanwhile  there  was  nothing  before  him  except  the 
rolling  waves  of  the  desert,  nothing  about  him  except  the 
silence  of  immensity,  and  nothing  above  him  but  the  un- 
clouded glory  of  the  moon. 


xvn 

As  midnight  had  struck  on  the  soft  cathedral  bell  of 
the  clock  in  Lady  Nuneham's  room  the  old  lady  had  raised 
herself  in  bed  and  looked  round  with  bright  and  joyful 
eyes. 

"Fatimah?" 

"  Yes,  my  heart,"  said  Fatimah,  rising  hurriedly  from 
the  chair  in  which  she  had  been  knitting  and  stepping  up 
to  the  bedside. 

"  Has  he  gone,  Fatimah  ?  " 

"  Has  who  gone,  oh,  my  lady  ? " 

The  bright  eyes  looked  at  the  Egyptian  woman  with  a 
reproving  smile. 

"  Why,  you  know  quite  well,  Fatimah,  You  saw  him 
yourself,  didn't  you?" 

"  You  mean  his  lordship  ?  " 

"No,  no,  but " 

The  old  lady  paused,  looked  round  again  and  said: 

"Can  it  be  possible  that  you  didn't  see  him,  Fatimah?" 

"  See  whom,  my  lady  ?  " 

"  Why,  Gordon  !  " 

Fatimah  made  an  upward  gesture  with  her  hand. 

"When,  my  heart?" 

"  Just  now — not  a  moment  ago." 

Fatimah  raised  both  hands  and  seemed  for  a  moment 
unable  to  speak. 

"  He  knocked   at  the   door — I  knew  his   knock  immedi- 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  239 

ately.  Then  he  said  outside,  *  Don't  be  afraid  ' — I  know 
his  voice,  too.  And  then  he  opened  the  door  and  came  in, 
and  I  thought  at  first  it  was  a  Bedouin,  for  he  wore  East- 
ern clothes,  but  he  whispered,  '  Mother,'  and  it  was  Gordon 
himself." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  eyes,  you  have  been  dreaming,"  said 
Fatimah,  whereupon  the  old  lady  looked  reproachfully  at 
her  and  said: 

"  How  can  you  say  that,  Fatimah  ?  I  clasped  my  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  he  put  his  arms  about  me  and  kissed 
me,  and  then " 

"Well?" 

The  old  lady  thought  for  a  moment,  "  I  think  I  must 
have  fainted,"  she  said.  "  I  cannot  remember  what  hap- 
pened then." 

"  Oh,  my  lady,  oh,  my  heart,  you  have  been  sleeping  for 
nearly  an  hour,"  said  Fatimah. 

"  Sleeping  ? " 

"  Yes,  but  a  little  after  eleven  o'clock  you  were  resting 
and  threw  out  your  arms,  and  I  covered  them  up  again." 

The  joyful  gleam  had  now  gone  from  the  old  lady's 
eyes,  and  a  troubled  look  had  taken  the  place  of  it. 

"  Dc  you  say  that  Gordon  has  not  been  here,  Fatimah?" 

"  Alas !  no,  my  lady." 

"  Has  nobody  been  ?  " 

"  Nobody  at  all,  my  lady,  since  his  lordship  was  i;p 
last." 

■'  But  I  could  have  been  sure  that " 

She  stopped;  a  smile  crossed  her  bewildered  face  and 
she  said  in  a  soft,  indulgent  voice : 

"  My  poor  Fatimah !  I  wear  you  out.  I  wear  out 
everybody.  You  must  have  dozed  off  at  that  moment 
and  so " 

"  Oh,  no,  my  lady,  no !  Wallahi!  I've  not  closed  my  eyes 
since  yesterday." 

"  How  strange!  " 

"  But  Ibrahim  ought  to  know  if  anybody  has  come  up- 
stairs.    Should  I  call  him,  my  lady  ? " 

"  Yes — no — that  is  to   say — wait !  " 


240  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then,  all  the  sweet 
illusion  being  gone,  the  old  lady  said  in  a  sadder  tone: 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Fatimah.  But  it  was  so  dear 
to  think  that— Hush  ! '' 

She  had  heard  her  husband's  footsteps  on  the  stairs, 
and  she  began  to  straighten  her  lace  cap  with  her  delicate 
white  fingers. 

The  Consul-General  had  gone  through  a  heavy  and  try- 
ing day.  In  the  morning  he  had  received  from  the  Secre- 
tary of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs  a  despatch  which  was 
couched  in  terms  more  caustic  than  had  been  addressed  to 
him  from  London  at  any  time  during  his  forty  years  in 
Egypt.  He  had  spent  the  nig'ht  in  dictating  an  answer  to 
this  despatch,  and  his  reply,  though  framed  in  diplomatic 
form,  had  been  no  less  biting  and  severe. 

Having  finished  his  work  in  some  warmth,  he  was  now 
on  his  way  to  bed,  and  thinking  of  the  humiliation  to 
which  he  had  been  exposed  in  England  by  the  late  disturb- 
ance in  Cairo  he  was  blaming  his  son  for  the  worst  of  it. 
Every  step  of  his  heavy  foot  as  he  went  upstairs  was  like 
a  word  or  a  blow  against  Gordon.  It  was  Gordon  who  had 
encouraged  the  people  to  rebel;  it  was  Gordon's  name  that 
was  being  used  (because  it  was  his  own  name  also)  by  pes- 
tilent prattlers  in  Parliament  to  support  the  accusation 
that  he  had  outraged  (contrary  to  the  best  traditions  of 
British  rule)  the  religious  instincts  of  an  Eastern  people; 
therefore  it  was  Gordon  who  had  poisoned  the  source  of  his 
authority  in  Egypt  and  the  fount  of  his  influence  at  home. 

In  this  mood  he  entered  his  wife's  room,  and  there 
Fatimah,  who  had  been  frightened  for  all  her  brave  show 
of  unbelief,  fell  at  once  to  telling  him  of  her  mistress's 
delusion. 

"  But  this  is  wrong  of  you,  Janet,  very,  very  wrong," 
said  the  Consul-General  with  a  frown.  "  These  visions  and 
dreams  are  doing  more  than  anything  else  to  destroy  your 
health,  and  they  will  kill  you  if  you  continue  to  encourage 
them.  Gordon  is  gone.  You  must  make  up  your  mind 
to  it." 

"Is  it  quite  certain  that  he  is  gone,  dear?"  said  the  old 


THE    SHADOW   OF    THE    SWORD  241 

lady,  who  was  now  nervously  plucking  at  the  counterpane. 
"  For  instance,  Fatimah  told  me  to-day  that  there  was  a 
story  in  town " 

"  Fatimah  has  no  business  to  repeat  such  idle  rumours," 
said  the  Consul-General  sharply.  He  was  walking  to  and 
fro  in  the  room  with  a  face  that  was  hard  and  furrowed. 

"  As  for  the  story  you  speak  of,  they  sent  it  up  to  me  as 
late  as  ten  o'clock  to-night,  saying  Gordon  was  being  shel- 
tered in  a  certain  place  and  asking  what  steps  they  were 
to  take  with  respect  to  him." 

The  old  lady  fixed  her  frightened  eyes  on  her  husband's 
face  and  began  to  ask  in  a  whisper: 

"  And  what  did  you " 

"The  rumour  was  groundless,"  said  the  Consul-General. 
"  I've  just  heard  so  from  the  Commandant  of  Police.  Gor- 
don was  not  there.  There  was  no  sign  that  he  ever  had 
been." 

The  old  lady  wept  silently,  and  the  Consul-General  con- 
tinued to  Avalk  to  and  fro  at  the  foot  of  her  bed  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  avoid  her  face. 

"  You  still  think  he  left  Cairo  on  the  night  of  the  riot, 
dear?" 

"I  trust  he  did.  I  trust,  too,  that  he  is  far  from  here 
by  this  time — on  his  way  to  America,  India,  Australia,  any- 
where. And  as  he  has  broken  the  law  and  his  career  is  at 
an  end,  I  think  the  kindest  thing  we  can  do  is  to  hope  that 
he  may  never  come  back  again." 

The  old  lady  tried  to  speak,  but  her  voice  failed  her. 

"  More  than  that,"  continued  the  Consul-General,  "  as 
he  deliberately  took  sides  against  us,  I  also  think  it  is  our 
duty — our  strict  and  bounden  duty — to  dismiss  all  further 
thought  of  him." 

Saying  this  with  heat  and  emphasis,  he  caught  sight  of 
his  wife's  wet  eyes  and  his  conscience  began  to  accuse  him. 

"I  don't  say  it  is  easy  to  do,"  he  said,  taking  a  chair 
by  the  side  of  the  bed.  "  Perhaps  it  is  the  reverse  of  easy 
— especially  for  you — for  his  mother." 

At  that  the  sweet  old  woman  wished  to  take  the  part 
of  her  absent  son — to  say  that  if  he  had  taken  the  wrong 


242  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

course  and  allowed  himself  to  be  led  away  by  some  one,  lie 
could  not  have  counted  on  any  gain  in  doing  so  and  must 
lia%'e  been  moved  by  the  most  unselfish  motives — but  her 
tears  prevented  her  and  still  she  could  not  speak. 

"  Why  should  we  continue  to  think  of  him  if  he  never 
thinks  of  us — of  either  of  us  ?  "  asked  the  Consul-General. 

He  was  calmer  now  and  was  speaking  with  less  anger. 

"  Was  he  thinking  of  you  when  he  took  the  step  which 
broke  up  your  health  like  this?  Was  he  thinking  of  me 
when  he  took  the  side  of  my  enemies — of  one  of  my  ene- 
mies at  all  events — perhaps  the  worst  of  them — and  left  me 
to  the  mercy  of — in  my  old  age,  too — a  childless  man  ? " 

There  was  a  moment  in  which  nothing  was  spoken,  and 
then  in  a  voice  that  quivered  perceptibly  the  Consul- 
General  said : 

"  Let  us  trifle  with  ourselves  no  longer,  Janet.  Our  son 
has  gone.  He  has  abandoned  us.  We  have  to  think  no 
more  about  him." 

After  that  there  was  a  long  silence,  during  which  the 
Consul-General  sat  with  his  head  down  and  his  eyes  tightly 
closed.     Then  a  voice  came  softly  from  the  bed: 

"  John ! " 

"Well?" 

"It  is  harder  for  you,  dear.'' 

The  old  man  turned  his  head  aside. 

"  You  wanted  a  son  so  much,  you  know." 

Fatimah,  who  had  been  sitting  out  of  sight,  now  stepped 
into  the  boys'  room  and  closed  the  door  noiselessly  behind 
her,  leaving  the  two  old  people  alone  together,  with  the 
sanctities  of  their  married  life  on  which  no  other  eye 
should  look. 

"  I  thought  at  first  that  God  was  not  going  to  give  me 
any  children,  but  when  my  child  came,  and  it  was  a  boy, 
how  happy  we  both  were !  " 

The  old  man  closed  his  eyes  still  more  tightly  and  stiff- 
ened his  iron  lip. 

"  Foolish  people  used  to  think  in  those  days  that  you 
didn't  love  our  little  one  because  you  couldn't  pay  much 
heed  to  him.     But  Fatimah  was  telling  me  only  to-night 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  243 

that  you  never  went  to  bed  without  going  into  her  room  to 
see  if  it  was  well  with  our  child." 

The  tears  were  now  forcing  themselves  through  the  old 
man's  eyelids. 

"  And  when  our  dear  boy  had  the  fever,  and  he  was  so 
ill  that  we  had  to  shave  his  little  head,  you  never  went  to 
bed  at  all — not  until  the  crisis  came,  and  then — don't  you 
remember? — just  when  we  thought  the  wings  of  death  were 
over  us,  he  opened  his  beautiful  blue  eyes  and  smiled.  I 
think  that  was  the  happiest  moment  of  all  our  lives, 
dear." 

She  was  on  her  husband's  side  at  last — thinking  for 
him — seeing  everything  from  his  point  of  view. 

"  Then  all  the  years  afterward  you  worked  so  hard,  and 
won  such  high  honours  and  such  a  great  name,  only  to 
leave  them  behind  to  our  son,  and  now — now " 

The  Consul-General  laid  one  of  his  wrinkled  hands  on 
the  counterpane,  and  in  a  moment  the  old  lady  had  put  her 
delicate  white  hand  on  top  of  it. 

"  Yes,  it's  harder  for  you,  dear." 

"  No,  Janet,  no ! — But  it's  hard  for  both  of  us." 

There  was  another  moment  of  silence,  and  then,  press- 
ing the  hand  that  lay  under  her  hand,  the  old  lady  said : 

"  I  think  I  know  now  what  people  feel  when  they  are 
old  and  their  children  die  before  them.  They  feel  that  they 
ought  to  be  more  to  each  other  than  they  have  ever  been 
before,  and  keep  together  as  long  as  they  can." 

The  Consul-General  drew  his  hand  away  and  covered 
his  face  with  it.  He  was  asking  himself  why,  through  so 
many  years,  he  had  buried  his  love  for  his  wife  so  deep  in 
his  heart  and  sealed  it  as  with  a  seal.  Presently  a  more 
cheerful  voice  came  from  the  bed: 

"  John !  " 

"Yes?" 

"  I'm  going  to  get  up  to-morrow." 

"  Xo,  no !  " 

"  But  I  must !  Mohammed  "  (the  cook)  "  is  so  forget- 
ful when  there's  no  mistress  about — I  must  see  that  he 
gives  you  good  food,  you  know.     Besides,  it  must  be  lonely 


244  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

to  eat  your  meals  by  yourself — I  must  make  it  a  rule  to 
go  down  to  lunch  at  all  events." 

"  That  is  nothing,  Janet.  You  are  weak  and  ill — the 
doctor  will  not  permit  you  to  disturb  yourself." 

At  that  there  was  a  sigh,  and  then  in  a  faltering  voice 
the  old  lady  said: 

"  You  must  forgive  me,  dear — I've  not  been  what  I 
ought  to  have  been  to  you." 

"  Xo,  Janet,  no,  it  is  I " 

He  could  not  utter  another  word,  but  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  and,  clasping  his  wife  in  his  arms,  he  kissed  her  on 
her  wrinkled  forehead  and  her  whitened  hair  more  fer- 
vently than  he  had  ever  done  in  their  youth. 

At  the  next  moment  the  old  lady  was  speaking  about 
Helena.  The  Consul-General  would  see  her  oil  in  the 
morning  and  he  was  to  give  all  her  motherly  love  to  her. 
He  was  also  to  warn  her  to  take  good  care  of  herself  on 
the  voyage  and  not  to  be  anxious  or  to  repine. 

"  Tell  her  to  remember  what  I  said,  dear.  She  is  going 
back  to  England,  but  that  doesn't  matter  in  the  least.  God 
keeps  all  His  promises,  and  he  M'ill  keep  His  promise  in 
this  case,  too — I'm  sure  he  will.    Tell  her  that,  deai\" 

The  Consul-General  answered  "  Yes  "  and  "  Yes  "  to  all 
her  messages,  but  he  did  not  hear  them.  Bent  almost 
double,  with  the  light  of  his  wearied  eyes  almost  extinct,  he 
stumbled  out  of  the  room.  He  was  no  longer  angry  with 
Gordon,  but  he  was  choking  with  hatred  and  scorn  and, 
above  all,  with  jealousy  of  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  of 
his  son,  the  man  who  had  robbed  his  wife  of  her  only  pride 
and  joy  and  left  them  hopeless  and  old  and  lone. 

At  the  door  of  his  bedroom  one  of  his  secretaries  was 
waiting  for  him  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

"Well,  well,  what  is  it  now?"  he  asked. 

"An  important  telegram  from  the  Soudan,  sir,"  said 
the  Secretary.  "  Ishmael  Ameer  has  turned  up  in  Khar- 
toum." 

Then  the  austere  calm  of  the  stern  old  man  deserted 
him  for  a  moment,  and  the  pent-up  agony  of  the  broken 
and  bankrupt  hopes  of  a  lifetime  broke  into  a  shout: 


THE    SHADOW    OF    THE    SWORD  245 

"Damn  him!       Damn  him!     Tell  the  Sirdar  to  kill  him 
like  a  dog,"  he  cried,  and  his  Secretary  fled  in  a  fright. 


XVIII 

Hours  passed  before  the  Consul-General  slept.  He  was 
telling  himself  that  there  were  now  two  reasons  why  he 
should  suppress  and  destroy  the  man  Ishmael  Ameer. 

First  because  "  this  madman,  this  fanatic,  this  false 
prophet,"  under  the  cloak  of  religion  and  the  mantle  of 
prophecy,  was  a  cover  for  the  corruption  and  the  self-seek- 
ing which  in  the  name  and  the  guise  of  Nationalism  were 
trying  to  drive  England  out  of  the  valley  of  the  Nile;  be- 
cause he  was  the  rallying  point  of  the  retrograde  forces 
which  were  doing  their  best  to  destroy  whatever  seeds  of 
civilisation  had  been  implanted  in  the  country  during  forty 
sleepless  years;  because  he  was  trying  to  turn  prosperity 
back  to  bankruptcy,  order  back  to  anarchy,  and  the  helpless 
millions  of  the  unmoving  and  the  uncomplaining  peasantry 
back  to  slavery  and  barbarity ;  because,  in  a  word,  he  was  the 
head  centre  of  the  schools  and  nurseries  of  sedition  which 
were  undoing  the  hard  labour  of  his  lifetime  and  striving 
to  wipe  his  name  out  of  Egypt  as  utterly  as  if  he  had 
never  been. 

This  was  the  first  of  the  Consul-General's  two  reasons 
why  he  should  suppress  and  destroy  Ishmael  Ameer,  and 
the  second  was  still  more  personal  and  more  intimate. 

His  second  reason  was  because  "  this  madman,  this 
fanatic,  this  false  prophet"  had  stepped  in  between  him 
and  the  one  hope  of  his  life — the  hope  of  founding  a  fam- 
ily. That  hope  had  been  a  secret  which  he  believed  he  had 
never  betrayed  to  any  one,  not  even  to  his  wife,  but  all  the 
more  on  that  account  it  had  been  sweet  and  sacred.  Born 
in  a  moment  of  fierce  anger  and  in  a  spirit  of  revenge,  it 
had  grown  to  be  his  master  passion.  It  had  cheered  his 
darkest  hours,  brightened  his  heaviest  labour,  exalted  his 
drudgery  into  duty,  given  joy  to  his  success  and  wings  to 
his  patriotism  itself. 


246  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

That,  at  the  end  of  his  life  of  hard  work,  and  as  the 
reward  and  the  crown  of  it,  he  should  see  the  name  he  had 
made  for  himself  among  the  great  names  of  the  British 
nation,  and  that  his  son  should  succeed  to  it,  and  his  son's 
son,  and  his  son's  son's  son,  being  all  peers  of  the  realm  and 
all  Xunehams — this  had  been  the  cherished  aspiration  of 
his  soul. 

But  now  his  high-built  hope  was  in  the  dust.  By  rob- 
bing him  of  his  son — his  only  son — "  this  madman,  this 
fanatic,  this  false  prophet"  had  turned  his  one  aim  to 
ashes.  When  he  was  old,  too,  and  his  best  powers  were 
spent,  and  his  life  was  behind  him,  and  there  was  nothing 
before  him  but  a  few  short  years  of  failing  strength  and 
then — the  end. 

"  Damn  him !  Damn  him !  "  he  cried  again  in  the  dark- 
ness as  he  rolled  about  in  his  bed. 

But  when  he  tried  to  think  out  some  means,  some  swift 
and  silent  tribunal,  perhaps,  by  which  he  could  destroy  and 
suppress  the  man  Ishmael,  who  had  laid  waste  his  own  life 
and  was  joining  with  the  worst  elements  in  Egypt  to  make 
the  government  of  the  country  impossible,  he  had  to  tell 
himself  how  powerless  after  all  was  the  machinery  of 
Western  civilisation  against  the  hypocritical  machinations 
of  Eastern  fanaticism. 

On  the  one  side  the  clogs  and  impediments  of  represen- 
tative government,  and  on  the  other  the  subtlety,  secrecy, 
duplicity  and  deceit  of  men  like  Ishmael  Ameer.  If  he  could 
only  scotch  these  troubles  once  for  all  by  a  short  and  sharp 
military  struggle — how  different  the  results  would  be! 

But  with  every  act  of  his  life  watched  from  Whitehall 
and  with  operations  of  frightful  urgency  kept  back  by  cable ; 
dogged  by  foreign  diplomats  who,  professing  to  be  Eng- 
land's friends,  were  yet  waiting  to  find  their  opportunity 
in  the  hour  of  England's  need;  vilified  by  boobies  in  Par- 
liament who  did  not  know  the  difference  between  the  East 
and  the  West,  between  the  Muski  and  the  Mile  End  Road, 
and  were  constantly  sending  the  echo  of  their  parrot-like 
prattle  down  the  Mediterranean  to  add  to  the  difficulties  of 
his  position  in  Cairo;  scolded  by  Secretaries  of  State  who 


THE    SHADOW   OF    THE    SWORD  247 

•were  appointed  to  their  places  for  no  better  reason  than 
their  power  to  command  votes;  jibed  at  by  journalists  at 
home  who  could  not  see  that  a  free  press  and  a  foreign 
occupation  were  things  that  could  never  exist  together,  and 
preached  at  by  religious  milksops  in  the  pulpit  w4io  were 
so  simple  as  to  suppose  that  the  black  man  and  the  white 
man  were  one  flesh,  that  all  men  were  born  free  and  equal 
and  that  it  was  possible  to  govern  great  nations  accord- 
ing to  the  precepts  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount — what 
could  he  do  against  the  religious  delirium  of  an  ignorant 
Eastern  populace  who  were  capable  of  mistaking  a  mani- 
fest impostor,  practising  his  spiritual  legerdemain,  for  a 
Prophet,  a  Redeemer,  a  Mahdi,  a  Messiah,  a  Christ? 
Nothing ! 

He  had  found  that  out  to  his  bitter  disappointment 
during  the  past  few  days  when  working  with  Western 
machinery  he  had  tried  in  vain  to  catch  the  man  Ishmael 
in  some  seditious  expression  that  would  enable  the  Govern- 
ment to  lay  him  openly  by  the  heels. 

"  Fools !     Fools !     Fools !  " 

Why  could  not  people  see  that  all  this  vapouring  unrest 
in  Eastern  dominions  was  a  religious  question  from  first 
to  last,  that  it  was  Islamism  against  Christianity,  slavery 
against  liberty,  corruption  against  purity,  the  backwash  of 
retrogression  against  the  flowing  tide  of  progress,  and  that 
to  fight  the  secret  methods  of  the  mosque  and  the  insidious 
crimes  of  a  vicious  superstition  with  any  weapons  less  swift 
and  sure  than  the  rifle  and  the  rope  was  to  be  weak  and 
wicked? 

"  If  I  could  only  permit  myself  to  meet  Eastern  needs 
by  Eastern  means,"  he  thought,  "subtlety  by  subtlety, 
secrecy  by  secrecy,  duplicity  by  duplicity,  treachery  by 
treachery,  deceit  by  deceit !  " 

"  And  why  not  ? ''  he  asked  himself  suddenly.  "  In  a 
desperate  case  like  this,  why  not?  In  the  face  of  anarch- 
ical conspiracy  and  menace  to  public  safety,  why  not? 
Before  the  catastrophe  comes,  why  not?"  he  asked  himself 
again  and  again  during  the  long  hours  in  which  he  lay 
awake. 


248  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  It  is  a  case  of  civilisation  on  the  one  side  and  a  return 
to  barbarism  on  the  other.     Why  not?     Why  not?" 

And  that,  with  the  cruel  memory  of  his  wasted  hopes, 
was  the  last  thought  present  to  his  mind  before  he  slept. 

It  was  late  when  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  and  then, 
remembering  that  he  had  promised  to  call  on  Helena  before 
her  departure,  he  rang  the  bell  that  he  might  order  his  car- 
riage to  take  him  up  to  the  Citadel.  Ibrahim  answered  it, 
and  brought  him  a  number  of  letters.  The  first  of  them 
to  come  to  hand  was  a  letter  from  Helena  herself.  It  was 
written  with  many  signs  of  haste,  and  some  of  emotion, 
and  it  ran: 

"  Dear  Lord  Nuneham  :  Do  not  come  up  to  see  me  off  to- 
morrow morning,  and  please  forgive  me  for  all  the  unneces- 
sary trouble  I  have  given  you.  I  cannot  go  back  to  England 
— I  really  cannot — it  is  impossible.  There  is  nothing  for  me 
there  but  a  useless  and  lonely  life —  Oh,  how  lonely  and  how 
full  of  bitter  and  cruel  memories ! 

"  On  the  other  hand,  there  seems  to  be  something  I  can 
do  in  Egypt,  and  though  it  is  not  the  kind  of  work  a  woman 
could  choose  for  herself,  I  cannot  and  I  will  not  shrink 
from  it. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth  at  once  I  am  on  the  point  of  tak- 
ing the  night  train  en  route  for  Khartoum,  but  that  is  a 
secret  which  I  am  revealing  to  nobody  else,  so  I  beseech  you 
to  say  nothing  about  it.  I  also  beseech  you  not  to  follow  me 
or  to  send  after  me  or  to  inquire  about  me  in  any  way,  and 
lest  the  Sirdar  and  his  officers  should  recognise  me  on  my 
arrival  in  the  Soudan  (though  I  shall  try  to  make  it  difficult 
for  them  to  do  so),  I  beg  of  you  to  ask  them  to  forget  that 
they  have  ever  seen  me  before  and  to  leave  me  entirely  alone." 

The  Consul-General  dropped  the  hand  that  held  the 
letter  and  thought,  "  What  on  earth  does  the  girl  intend  to 
do,  I  wonder? " 

"  You  may  ask  me  why  I  am  going  to  Khartoum,  and  I 
find  it  hard  to  answer  you,  but  you  will  remember  that  an- 


THE    SHADOW    OF   THE    SWORD  249 

other  person  is  reported  to  have  gone  there  already,  and 
perhaps  you  will  put  the  two  facts  together.  That  person  is 
neither  your  friend  nor  mine.  He  has  wrecked  my  life  and 
darkened  your  happiness.  He  has  also  been  an  evil  influence 
in  the  country,  and,  thus  far,  you  have  tried  in  vain  to  pun- 
ish him.  Let  me  help  you  to  do  so.  I  can — I  am  sure  I  can 
— and  before  I  have  finished  with  the  man  who  has  injured 
both  of  us  I  shall  have  done  some  service  to  England  and 
to  Egypt  as  well. 

"  Don't  think  I  am  mad  or  that  I  am  idly  boasting,  and 
please  don't  despise  my  help  because  I  am  only  a  woman.  In 
the  history  of  the  world  women  have  saved  nations  even 
when  kings  and  armies  have  failed.  And  if  that  has  hap- 
pened in  the  past  may  it  not  happen  in  the  future  also? 
It  can,  and  it  shall.'' 

Again  the  Consul-General  dropped  the  hand  that  held 
the  letter  and  he  looked  fixedly  before  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Dear  Lord  Nuneham,  I  know  what  you  are  thinking. 
You  are  thinking  that  if  I  am  not  mad,  and  if  I  am  not 
boasting,  I  am  cruel  and  revengeful  and  vindictive.  I  am 
sorry  if  you  are  thinking  that,  sir,  but  if  so  I  cannot  help 
it.  I  have  lost  my  father  and  I  have  lost  Gordon,  and  I  am 
alone  and  my  heart  is  torn.  Oh,  if  you  knew  hoAV  much  this 
means  to  me  you  would  not  judge  me  too  harshly.  When  I 
think  of  my  father  in  his  grave  and  of  Gordon  in  disgrace 
— at  the  ends  of  the  earth  perhaps — never  to  be  seen  or  heard 
of  any  more — I  feel  that  anything  is  justified — anything — 
that  will  punish  the  man  who  has  brought  things  to  this 
pass." 

The  Consul-General  removed  his  spectacles,  wiped  away 
the  moisture  that  had  gathered  on  them,  put  them  back 
and  resumed  the  reading  of  the  letter. 

"  Sometimes  I  tell  myself  I  might  have  saved  Gordon  if  I 
had  been  less  proud  and  hard — if  I  had  told  him  more  and 
allowed  him  to  feel  that  I  could  see  things  from  his  side  also. 
But  it  is  too  late  to  think  of  that.    I  can  think  of  nothing 


250  THE    WHITE    PKOPHET 

now  but  how  to  degrade  and  destroy  the  man  who  deceived 
and  misled  him,  and  is  deceiving  and  misleading  these  poor 
Egyptian  people  also,  and  will  end,  as  such  men  always  end, 
in  sowing  the  sand  of  their  deserts  with  blood. 

"  But  don't  be  afraid  that  I  shall  permit  myself  to  do 
anything  unwomanly,  or  that  I  shall  ever  be  false  for  a 
moment  to  the  love — the  wronged  and  outraged  love — which 
prompts  me.  Gordon  is  gone,  I  have  lost  him,  but  I  can 
never  do  that — never ! 

"  I  know  exactly  how  far  I  intend  to  go  and  I  shall  go  no 
farther.  I  also  know  exactly  what  I  intend  to  do,  and  I  shall 
do  it  without  fear  or  remorse. 

"  Good-bye,  or  rather  au  revoir!  You  will  hear  from  me, 
or  perhaps  see  me  again  before  long,  I  think,  and  then — 
then  your  enemy  and  mine  and  Gordon's,  as  well  as  Eng- 
land's  and  Egypt's,  will  be  in  your  hands. 

"  Helena  Graves. 

"  P.S. — Please  don't  speak  about  this  to  Lady  Xuneham. 
Give  her  my  fondest,  truest  love  and  let  her  believe  that  I 
have  gone  home  to  England.  It  would  only  make  her  un- 
happy to  be  told  Avhat  I  intend  to  do,  and  she  might  even 
think  me  a  wicked  woman.  You  will  not  do  that,  I  hope 
— will  you  ?  " 

The  letter  dropped  on  to  the  counterpane  out  of  the 
Consul-General's  hand  and  again  he  looked  fixedly  before 
him.  After  a  moment  his  wearied  old  eyes  began  to  gleam 
with  light  and  fire. 

"  What  did  I  say  when  I  saw  her  first  ? "  he  thought. 
"  This  girl  has  the  blood  of  the  great  women  of  the  Bible — 
the  Deborahs  who  were  mothers  in  Israel,  aye,  and  the  Jaels 
who  revenged  her." 


THIRD   BOOK 
THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  WORLD 


A  MIXED  Eastern  and  Western  city  lying  in  the  midst  of 
a  wide  waste  of  grim  desert,  with  a  fierce  sun  blazing  down 
on  it  by  day  and  a  rain  of  stars  over  it  by  night;  a  strip  of 
verdure  with  slender  palms  and  red  and  yellow  blossoms, 
stretching  for  some  three  miles  along  the  banks  of  the  Nile, 
where  the  great  river  is  cleft  in  twain  as  by  the  sweep  of  a 
giant's  hand,  and  one  arm  goes  up  through  the  brown  and 
yellow  wilderness  to  the  Abyssinian  hills  and  the  other  to 
the  lakes  of  the  Equator — such  is  Khartoum. 

The  city  had  changed  since  Ishmael  Ameer  spent  his 
youth  there.  Lifeless  and  vacant  then,  it  had  risen  out  of 
the  dust  of  its  own  decay.  On  the  river's  front  a  line  of 
western  buildings,  a  college,  a  barrack  and  a  palace  over 
which  the  white  Crescent  and  the  Union  Jack  crackled  in 
the  breeze  together ;  at  the  back  of  these  a  great  open  mar- 
ket, with  rows  of  booths  and  shanties,  a  native  quarter  with 
lines  of  mud-brick  houses,  and  a  handsome  mosque;  and  be- 
hind all  this  an  encampment  of  the  tribes  in  tents,  fronting 
a  horizon  of  sand,  empty  and  silent  as  the  sea. 

When  Ishmael  returned  to  the  city  of  his  boyhood  British 
officials  of  the  Anglo-Egyptian  Government,  wearing  the 
Crescent  on  their  pith  helmets,  were  walking  in  the  wide 
streets  with  Soudanese  blacksmiths,  Arab  carpenters,  and 
women  of  many  races,  some  veiled  in  white,  others  in  black, 
and  yet  others  nearly  naked  of  body  as  well  as  face.  Two 
battalions  of  British  soldiers,  a  British  Sirdar,  a  British 
Inspector-General,  and  British  Governors  of  provinces  were 
there  as  signs  and  symbols  of  the  change  that  had  been 
wrought  since  Khartoum  was  shrivelled  up  in  a  blast  of 
fire. 

Ishmael's  fame  had  gone  before  him,  from  Alexandria  and 
from  Cairo,  and  both  the  British  and  the  native  population 

253 


254  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

of  Khartoum  looked  for  his  coming  with  a  keen  curiosity. 
The  British  saw  a  man  taller  and  more  powerful  than  the 
common,  with  the  fiery,  flashing  black  eyes  that  they  associ- 
ated with  their  fears  of  the  fanatic;  but  the  natives,  to  their 
disappointment,  recognised  a  face  they  knew,  and  they  said 
among  themselves:  "Isn't  this  Ishmael  Ameer,  the  nephew 
of  old  ]\Iahmud  and  the  son  of  the  boat-builder?  "  And  that 
was  a  discovery'  which  for  a  while  dispelled  some  of  the 
marvel  as  well  as  the  mystery  which  had  hitherto  surrounded 
the  new  prophet's  identity. 

Ishmael  made  his  home  in  his  uncle's  house  on  the  fringe 
of  the  native  quarter,  a  large  Arab  dwelling  with  one  face 
to  the  desert  and  another  to  the  white  river  and  the  forts 
of  Omdurman.  Besides  the  old  uncle  himself,  now  more 
than  fourscore,  a  God-fearing  man  devoted  to  his  nephew, 
the  household  consisted  of  Ishmael's  little  daughter,  Ayesha, 
a  sweet  child  of  ten,  who  sang  quaint  little  Soudanese  songs 
all  day  long,  and  had  the  animal  grace  of  the  gazelle;  an 
Arab  woman,  Ayesha's  nurse,  Zenoba,  a  voluptuous  person, 
with  cheeks  marked  by  three  tribal  slits,  wearing  massive 
gold  ear-rings  and  hair  twisted  into  innumerable  thin  ring- 
lets; and  Abdullah,  a  Soudanese  servant,  formerly  a  slave. 

Before  Ishmael  had  been  long  in  Khartoum  most  of  the 
British  officials  had  made  up  their  minds  about  his  per- 
sonal character.  He  was  one  of  those  complex  beings  whom 
they  recognised  as  essentially  Eastern — that  mixture  of 
hypocrisy  and  spirituality,  of  sincerity  and  quackery,  which 
they  believed  to  be  most  dangerous  of  all  in  its  effects  upon 
a  fanatical  populace.  The  natives,  on  the  other  hand,  began 
to  see  that,  though  a  spontaneous  and  passionate  man,  out- 
spoken and  vehement  in  his  dealings  with  the  strong  and 
the  rich,  he  was  very  tender  to  the  old  and  to  the  erring, 
that  he  was  beloved  of  children,  and  trusted  by  the  outcast 
and  the  poor. 

Before  many  days-  had  passed  the  Moslems  of  Khartoum 
asked  him  to  lecture  to  them,  and  in  the  evenings  he  would 
sit  on  an  angerib  which  Abdullah  brought  out  of  the  house, 
with  a  palm  net  spread  over  it,  and  speak  to  the  people  who 
squatted  on  the  ground  about  him.    Clad  in  his  white  caftan 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  255 

and  Mecca  skull-cap,  with  its  white  muslin  turban  bound 
round  it,  the  British  Inspectors  would  see  him  there  on  the 
edge  of  the  desert  surrounded  by  a  multitude  of  Arabs,  olive 
and  walnut,  and  of  Soudanese,  brown  and  black,  holding  his 
hearers  by  the  breathless  intensity  with  which  he  uttered 
himself. 

Yet  he  did  not  flatter  them.  On  the  contrary,  no  man 
had  ever  so  condemned  the  evils  which  they  had  come  to 
regard  as  part  and  parcel  of  their  faith.  All  the  Arab  soul 
and  blood  of  the  man  seemed  to  be  afire  and  his  w^onderful 
voice,  throbbing  over  their  heads,  far  away  to  the  silent 
desert  beyond,  carried  such  denunciations  of  the  corrup- 
tions of  Islam  as  the  people  had  never  heard  before. 

"  Beware  of  slavery,"  he  said.  "  What  says  the  Koran  ? 
*  Righteousness  is  to  him  who  f  reeth  the  slave.'  Beware  of 
sorcery,  of  spells,  of  magic,  of  divinations — they  are  of  the 
devil." 

Teaching  like  this  might  drive  away  the  dominant  races, 
but  it  brought  the  subject  ones,  and  among  others  that  at- 
tached themselves  to  Ishmael  was  a  half-witted  Nubian  (an 
Ethiopian  of  the  Bible),  known  as  Black  Zogal,  who  from 
that  time  forward  followed  him  about  by  day  and  lay  like 
a  dog  at  the  door  of  his  house  by  night,  crying  the  confes- 
sion of  faith  at  the  end  of  every  hour. 

After  condemning  slavery  and  sorcery  Ishmael  came  to 
closer  quarters — he  denounced  polygamy  and  divorce. 

"  Beware  of  polygamy,"  he  said.  "  It  pulls  down  the 
pillars  of  the  house.  ISTo  man  would  permit  another  man  to 
join  with  him  in  love  for  his  wife.  Why,  therefore,  ask  a 
woman  to  allow  another  woman  to  join  with  her  in  love  for 
her  husband? 

"  Beware  of  divorce,  for  it  brings  sorrow  and  shame. 
What  says  the  Prophet,  to  w^hom  be  prayer  and  peace?  '  Of 
all  lawful  things  hated  of  God,  divorce  is  the  most  hateful.' 

"  Brothers,"  he  cried,  "  I  see  a  house  that  is  full  of 
light.  There  is  a  new  wife  there.  She  is  very  happy.  But 
in  the  upper  rooms  I  hear  children  weeping.  They  are 
weeping  for  their  mother  who  has  been  put  away.  She  has 
done  no  wrong,  she  has  committed  no  crime,  but  while  the 


256  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

guests  feast  and  the  new  wife  counts  her  jewels,  the  mother's 
heart  is  bleeding  for  the   children  she  may  see  no  more." 

"  O  men,"  he  cried  again  in  his  throbbing  voice,  "  night 
is  for  sleep,  and  your  children  slumber,  but  in  their  dreams 
their  mother  comes  to  them.  She  embraces  them  and  they 
dry  their  tears.  But  they  awake  in  the  morning  and  she  is 
gone.  Where  is  your  father's  heart,  0  ye  men  of  righteous- 
ness? Has  all  justice  died  out  of  you?  Shame  on  you! 
May  heaven  punish  you  as  you  deserve !  Divorce  shakes  the 
throne  of  Islam !  Wipe  it  out  that  your  faces  may  be  whit- 
ened before  the  world !  " 

After  condemning  polygamy  and  divorce  Ishmael  came  to 
closer  quarters  still — he  denounced  the  seclusion  and  the 
degradation  of  women. 

"  Remove  the  veil  from  your  women,"  he  said.  "  At  the 
beginning  it  was  the  badge  of  shame.  What  says  the  Koran  ? 
'  O  Prophet !  speak  to  thy  wives  and  thy  daughters  that 
they  let  their  wrappers  fall  so  that  they  may  not  be  af- 
fronted.' 

"  Dismiss  the  madness  of  a  bygone  age  that  woman  is 
inferior  to  man.  We  are  all  children  of  one  Mother.  What 
says  the  Prophet  ?  '  Paradise  lies  under  the  feet  of  mothers.' 
The  proverb  of  our  people  says,  '  The  threshold  weeps  for 
forty  days  when  a  girl  is  born,'  but  I  tell  you  the  stars  sing 
for  joy  and  the  dry  wells  of  the  desert  spring  afresh.  Man's 
dominion  over  woman  is  the  product  of  darkness — put  it 
away.  Oh,  my  brothers,  Avoman's  suffering  in  the  world  is 
so  great  that  if  she  does  not  cry  aloud  the  mountains  them- 
selves v;ill  groan." 

If  Ishmael's  teaching  offended  certain  of  the  men,  it  at- 
tracted great  multitudes  of  the  women,  many  of  whom  laid 
aside  their  veils  to  come  to  him,  and  among  others  that 
came  were  a  number  of  black  girls  from  Omdurman  who  were 
known  to  have  been  the  paramours  of  British  and  Egyptian 
soldiers  at  Khartoum.  Ilis  bearing  toward  these  girls  had 
that  shy  tenderness  which  is  peculiar  to  the  pure-minded 
man  in  his  dealings  with  erring  women,  and  when  some  of 
his  followers  gi-nmbled  at  his  intercourse  with  such  notori- 
ous sinners  he  told  them  a  story  of  the  Lord  Isa  (Jesus). 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  257 

It  was  the  story  of  His  visit  to  the  rich  man's  house  and 
of  the  sinful  woman  who  did  not  cease  to  wash  His  feet  witli 
her  tears  and  to  dry  them  with  the  hair  of  her  head. 

"  Shall  I  be  less  charitable  than  the  Lord  of  the  Chris- 
tians?" he  asked,  and  the  choking  pathos  of  his  story  si- 
lenced everybody. 

In  his  preaching  he  turned  for  ever  to  the  prophets — the 
prophet  Abraham,  the  prophet  Moses,  the  prophet  Moham- 
med, and  above  all,  the  prophet  Isa.  He  called  Jesus  the 
divine  teacher  of  Judaea,  one  of  the  great  brother  souls. 

"Only  a  poor  Jewish  man,"  he  said,  with  a  memory  of  his 
own  that  none  might  share,  "  only  a  poor  carpenter,  but  per- 
haps the  greatest  and  noblest  spirit  save  one  that  ever  lived 
in  the  world." 

Thus  evening  after  evening  when  the  blazing  sun  had 
gone  down,  Ishmael  sat  on  the  angerib  in  front  of  his  uncle's 
house  and  taught  the  ever-increasing  crowds  that  squatted 
before  him  on  the  brown  and  yellow  sand.  The  heat  and 
flame  of  his  teaching  burned  itself  into  the  wild  Arab  souls 
of  the  great  body  of  his  hearers,  but  there  were  some  among 
his  own  people  who  asked : 

"  Isn't  this  the  Ishmael  Ameer  who  denounced  the  Chris- 
tians as  the  corrupters  of  our  faith  ? " 

And  there  were  others  who  answered : 

"  Yes,  the  same  Ishmael  Ameer  that  married  the  Coptic 
woman  who  lies  buried  on  the  edge  of  the  desert." 

And  meantime  the  British  Inspectors,  suspecting  some 
hidden  quackery  and  fatuity,  some  fanatical  intrigue  mas- 
querading as  religious  liberalism,  were  whispering  among 
themselves : 

"  This  is  a  new  kind  of  religious  game — what  the  deuce 
does  it  mean,  I  wonder  ?  " 


II 

"Within  a  month  an  immense  concourse  of  people  had 
gathered  about  Ishmael  at  Khartoum.  They  came  first  from 
Omdurman   and  the  little  shipbuilding  village  of  Ivhogali, 


258  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

on  the  other  side  of  the  Blue  I^ile,  which  sent  daily  through 
the  desert  air  a  ceaseless  noise  of  the  hammering  of  rivets; 
then  they  came  from  Kordofan  and  still  farther  south,  and 
from  Berber  and  yet  farther  north. 

A  few  who  had  means  lodged  in  the  houses  of  the  native 
quarter,  but  the  larger  number  encamped  in  tents  on  the 
desert  side  of  old  Mahmud's  house.  Men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, they  flocked  in  thousands  to  see  the  holy  man  of  Khar- 
toum and  to  drink  of  the  river  of  his  words.  They  began  to 
see  in  him  a  man  sent  from  God,  to  call  him  "  Master,"  and 
to  speak  of  him  as  the  "  White  Prophet." 

At  that  the  Governor  of  the  city,  a  British  Colonel,  be- 
gan to  be  alarmed,  and  with  certain  of  his  Inspectors  he 
went  over  to  see  Ishmacl. 

"  What  can  these  people  want  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  "What 
bread  is  there  for  them  in  this  wilderness  ? " 

"  The  bread  of  life,"  Ishmael  answered,  and  the  Christian 
Governor  went  away  silenced,  though  unsatisfied. 

During  Ishmael's  first  weeks  in  Khartoum  his  house  was 
open,  and  anybody  might  come  and  go  in  it ;  but  somewhat 
later  it  was  observed  that  he  was  daily  receiving  messengers, 
agents,  emissaries,  and  missionaries  of  some  sort  in  secret. 
They  came  and  went  by  camel,  by  boat  and  by  train,  and 
rumour  had  it  that  they  communicated  with  every  quarter 
of  Egypt  and  the  Soudan.  Ishmael  appeared  to  spend  the 
morning  of  every  day  in  his  house  receiving  and  despatch- 
ing these  people.  What  did  it  mean  ?  The  British  Inspect- 
ors suspected  the  existence  of  a  vast  network  of  fanatical 
conspiracy,  but  only  the  members  of  Ishmael's  own  house- 
hold knew  what  was  going  on. 

Meantime  at  noon  every  day  Ishmael,  exercising  his 
right  as  an  alim,  lectured  in  the  mosque.  What  he  said  in 
that  sealed  chamber  no  Christian  might  know,  and  never  an 
echo  of  his  message  there  was  permitted  to  escape  from  its 
hushed  and  guarded  vaxilts.  But  still  after  sunset  he  sat  on 
the  angerib  in  front  of  his  uncle's  house  and  taught  the  ex- 
cited crowds  that  were  eager  to  catch  a  word  of  his  inspired 
doctrine. 

His  lectures  took  a  new  subject.     They  denounced  the 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  259 

spirit  of  the  age.  It  was  irreligious,  for  it  put  a  premium 
on  selfishness.  It  was  idolatrous,  for  it  provoked  to  the 
worship  of  wealth. 

"  Oh,  my  brothers,"  cried  Ishmael,  "  when  Mohammed, 
— to  him  be  prayer  and  peace! — arose  in  Mecca,  men  wor- 
shipped the  black  wooden  idols  of  the  Koreish.  To  his 
earnest  soul  this  was  a  darkness,  a  mockery,  an  abomination. 
There  was  only  one  god,  and  that  was  God.  God  was  great, 
and  there  was  nothing  else  great.  Therefore  he  went  out 
from  Mecca  that  he  might  gather  strength  to  assail  the  black 
wooden  idols  of  the  Koreish,  and  when  he  returned  he  broke 
them  in  pieces. 

"  That  was  thirteen  centuries  ago,  oh,  my  brothers,  and 
behold !  darkness  covers  the  earth  again.  Men  are  now  wor- 
shipping the  yellow  idols  of  a  corrupt  civilisation.  Mos- 
lems and  Christians  alike  are  bending  the  knee  to  the  golden 
calf.  It  is  idolatry  as  rank  as  the  Prophet  destroyed,  and 
tenfold  more  damnable  because  it  is  done  in  the  name  of 
God." 

With  that  he  called  on  his  people  to  renounce  the  things 
of  this  world.  Its  prizes  were  not  the  prizes  that  could  en- 
rich them.  Time  and  its  shows  rested  on  Eternity.  The 
things  of  the  other  world  were  the  only  true  realities.  Why 
struggle  for  the  semblance  and  form  of  things  and  neglect 
the  substance  and  essence?  This  poor  earth  of  ours  was  the 
threshold  of  heaven — let  them  forget  the  affairs  of  this  life 
and  fix  their  minds  on  the  life  to  come. 

The  people  listened  to  Ishmael  with  bated  breath.  Ig- 
norant, unlettered,  wild  creatures  as  they  were,  sons  and 
daughters  of  the  desert,  they  knew  what  application  of  his 
words  they  were  intended  to  make. 

But  the  authorities  were  perplexed.  Just  as  sure  as  be- 
fore of  the  presence  of  a  far-reaching  fanatical  conspiracy, 
and  that  Ishmael's  teaching  meant  opposition  to  the  Govern- 
ment, some  of  them  said: 

"  This  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Mahdi,  and  it  will  end  as  it 
ended  before,  in  destruction  and  desolation — let  us  put  it 
down  before  the  storm  breaks." 

But  others  said : 


260  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  It  is  the  Gospel  of  Christ — what  the  dickens  are  we  to 
do  with  it?" 

Meantime  Ishmael's  own  people  had  begun  to  see  him 
not  as  a  poet,  a  dreamer,  but  as  a  prophet  with  a  mighty 
mission.  In  moments  of  rapture  he  told  them  of  a  new 
order  that  was  coming,  a  great  day  when  all  the  religions 
of  the  world  would  be  united,  when  all  faiths  would  be  one 
faith,  all  races  one  race,  all  nations  one  nation,  when  East 
and  West  would  be  one  world,  and  there  would  be  only  one 
God  in  it,  one  King  and  one  Law. 

They  saw  him  with  tears  in  his  eyes  looking  over  the 
desert  as  he  foretold  the  conquest  of  the  world  for  God,  and 
listening  eagerly  to  his  predictions  of  a  better  and  happier 
day,  they  began  to  see  something  Godlike  in  himself,  to  re- 
gard him  as  a  God-inspired  man,  a  man  sent  down  from  the 
skies  with  a  message. 

"  Our  souls  lie  beneath  his  sheepskin,"  they  would  say, 
and  then  they  would  tell  each  other  stories  of  supernatural 
appearances  that  surrounded  the  new  prophet — how  while 
he  preached,  celestial  lights  floated  about  his  head,  and  when 
he  rode  on  his  milk-white  camel  into  the  desert  of  an  after- 
noon, as  it  was  his  habit  to  do,  flights  of  angels  were  seen  to 
descend  and  attend  him. 

The  creation  of  this  kind  of  myth  led  to  trouble,  for 
among  Ishmael's  secret  enemies  were  certain  of  the  Ulema 
of  Khartoum,  who,  jealous  of  his  great  influence  with 
the  people  and  suspecting  him  of  an  attempt  to  change 
the  immutable  law  of  Islam,  conceived  the  trick  of  get- 
ting him  to  avow  himself  as  a  re-incarnation  of  the  Mahdi 
in  order  that  they  might  betray  him  to  the  Government. 
So  three  of  the  meanest  of  them  came  one  morning  to 
old  Mahmud's  house,  and  sitting  in  the  guest-room,  un- 
der its  thatch  of  cornstalks,  began  to  flatter  Ishmael  and 
say: 

"  From  the  moment  I  beheld  you  I  knew  that  you  were 
the  messenger  of  God — the  Expected  One." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Mohammed  Ahmed  is  dead,  but  Ishmael 
Ameer  is  alive!  " 

Ishmael  listened  to  them  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  261 

then  with  a  flash  of  firo  out  of  his  big  black  eyes  he  clapped 
his  hands  and  cried : 

"  Zogal !  Abdullah !  Turn  these  men  out  of  the  house," 
and  in  another  moment  his  two  black  giants  had  swept  out 
the  spies  like  rats. 

But  the  crowds  continued  to  come  to  IQiartoum  from 
north,  south,  east,  and  west,  and  at  length,  in  fear  that 
many  might  die  of  want,  the  Governor  of  the  city  went  up 
to  Ishmacl  again  and  said : 

"  Send  these  people  back  to  their  homes,  or  they'll  die  of 
starvation." 

Whereupon  Ishmael  looked  at  him  and  answered: 

"  Colonel,  you  are  a  Christian,  and  when  your  divine 
Master  was  on  earth  a  great  multitude  came  to  him  in  a 
desert  place,  and  his  disciples  said,  '  Send  these  people  away 
that  they  may  return  to  their  villages  and  buy  themselves 
food.'  And  then  your  Master  answered  them,  '  They  need 
not  depart ;  give  ye  them  to  eat.' " 

Thus  Ishmael  was  irresistible.  There  was  nothing  and 
nobody  that  seemed  to  have  the  power  to  touch  him. 


ni 

"  To  every  sun  its  moon ;  to  every  man  a  woman." 

Wise  and  powerful  as  Ishmael  was,  people  began  to  whis- 
per that  there  was  a  woman  who  ruled  him.  He  submitted 
everything  to  her  judgment,  and  was  guided  and  even  gov- 
erned by  her  counsel. 

Who  was  this  w-oman?  A  Soudanese?  No!  An  Egyp- 
tian? Xo!  Humour  had  it  that  she  was  a  stranger,  totally 
unknown  to  Ishmael  down  to  the  moment  of  his  coming 
back  to  the  Soudan — a  Muslemah  (Mohammedan  lady)  from 
India,  the  sister  of  a  reigning  prince  of  the  Punjab,  who, 
having  been  educated  under  British  rule,  and  therefore 
Western  influences,  had  revolted  against  the  captivity  of  the 
zenana,  and  broken  away  from  her  own  people. 

Attracted  by  the  face  of  the  new  prophet  as  an  eman- 
18 


262  THE    \M11TE    PROPHET 

cipator  of  women  and  a  reformer  of  bad  Mohammedan  cus- 
toms, this  woman  had,  according  to  report,  followed  him 
from  Alexandria  and  Cairo  to  Khartoum,  where  she  had 
settled  herself  with  a  black  boy  as  her  servant  at  the  house 
of  the  Greek  widow — the  same  that  had  formerly  been  the 
mistress  of  Ishmael's  first  wife,  Adila. 

The  black  boy  called  his  mistress  "  The  Lady,"  and  most 
of  the  people  about  her  knew  her  by  the  same  name,  but 
some  called  her  the  Sit,  the  Khatoun  (the  White  Lady),  and 
others  the  Emireh,  and  the  Kani  (the  Queen,  the  Princess), 
in  recognition  of  what  they  believed  to  be  her  rank  and 
wealth. 

It  was  in  the  early  days  of  Ishmael's  return  to  Khar- 
toum, when  women  of  all  classes  were  coming  to  him  un- 
veiled, that  he  met  with  the  "  Princess  "  first.  Sitting  alone 
in  the  late  afternoon  on  the  bank  of  a  broad  stretch  of  land 
which  was  flooded  by  the  high  Nile,  and  looking  across  its 
glistening  waters  to  where  the  sky  was  red  behind  the  shat- 
tered dome  of  the  Mahdi's  tomb  in  Omdurman,  he  saw  a 
young  and  beautiful  woman  approaching  him. 

She  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  splendid  creature  under  those 
southern  skies — tall,  well-developed,  with  shining  coal-black 
hair,  long  black  lashes  and  brilliant  eyes,  and  a  mouth  that 
was  full  of  fire  and  movement.  Her  dress  was  such  as  is 
worn  by  Parsee  ladies  both  in  the  East  and  in  the  West, 
having  nothing  more  noticeably  Oriental  than  a  silken  scarf 
which  was  bound  about  her  head  as  a  turban,  and  a  light, 
silver-edged  muslin  veil  that  fell  back  on  her  shoulders. 

She  came  up  to  him  with  a  certain  air  of  timidity,  as 
of  one  who  might  be  afraid  to  be  thought  immodest,  or,  per- 
haps, of  being  recognised,  yet  with  the  proud  bearing  of  a 
woman  who  had  passed  through  life  with  a  high  step  and 
would  not  shrink  from  any  consequences. 

He  rose  to  receive  her,  and  she  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment  without  speaking — almost  as  if  she  had  for  an  in- 
stant lost  the  power  of  speech,  being  at  last  face  to  face  with 
a  man  whom  she  had  long  thought  of  and  long  sought. 

On  his  side,  too,  there  was  a  momentary  silence  and  a 
look  of  enthusiastic  admiration  which  he  tried  in  vain  to 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  263 

control.  The  lady  seemed  to  see  this  in  an  instant,  and  an 
expression,  of  joy  which  she  could  not  restrain  shone  in  her 
face. 

Then,  gathering  confidence,  she  began  to  tell  him  the 
object  of  her  visit  to  Khartoum — how,  hearing  so  much 
about  him,  she  had  wished  to  see  him  for  herself,  and  now 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  serve  him  in  any  way  whatever  that 
lay  within  her  power. 

He  listened  to  her  with  the  same  expression  of  enthusi- 
astic admiration  in  his  face,  and  it  would  have  been  ob- 
vious to  an  observer  that  the  lady  was  congratulating  her- 
self upon  the  power  of  the  impression  she  had  made.  But 
at  the  next  moment  he  set  her  a  very  humble  task,  namely, 
that  of  seeing  to  the  welfare  of  the  women  who  were  em- 
plo5'ed  at  sixpence  a  day  by  the  Government  to  draw  and 
carry  water  for  the  public  streets. 

The  lady  looked  surprised  and  a  little  chagrined,  but 
finding  it  impossible  to  recede  from  the  unconditional  offer 
she  had  made  she  went  away  to  the  work  that  had  been 
given  to  her. 

It  was  ugly  and  thankless  work  enough,  for  the  water- 
women  of  Khartoum  were  among  the  coarsest  and  most  de- 
graded of  their  sex,  being  chiefly  of  the  black  tribes  from 
south  of  Kordofan,  going  about  bare  from  the  waist  up- 
ward and  herding  like  animals  in  the  brown  huts  that  were 
beyond  the  barracks  outside  the  town. 

After  a  little  while  the  "  Princess  "  came  to  Ishmael  again, 
and  this  time  he  was  sitting  with  old  Mahmud,  his  uncle,  in 
the  guest-room  which  divided  the  women's  side  from  the 
men's  side  in  their  house. 

She  was  dressed  still  more  attractively  than  before,  in  a 
gold-embroidered  bodice  and  a  clinging  diaphanous  gown, 
and  was  attended  by  her  black  boy.  Ishmael  salaamed  and 
the  old  man  struggled  to  his  feet  as,  with  a  certain  air  of 
embarrassment,  she  stepped  forward  and  begged  to  be 
pardoned  if  what  she  came  to  ask  should  displease  the 
Master. 

Ishmael  looked  at  her  with  the  same  expression  of  en- 
thusiastic ecstasy  which  she  had  observed  before,  and  said: 


264  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  'No,  no,  my  sister  cannot  displease  me.  What  is  the 
request  she  wishes  to  make  ? " 

Then  she  told  him  that  the  work  he  had  given  her  was 
good  and  necessary,  but  was  there  nothing  she  could  do  for 
himself?  She  had  been  educated  in  India  by  English 
governesses  and  could  read  English,  French,  and  German — 
could  she  act  as  his  translator  or  interpreter?  Having  lived 
so  long  among  Arabs  of  the  higher  classes,  she  had  also 
taught  hei-self  to  write  as  well  as  speak  Arabic — could  she 
Bot  serve  him  as  his  secretary? 

Ishmael  remembered  his  busy  mornings  with  the  mes- 
sengers, agents,  emissaries,  and  missionaries  who  came  to 
him  from  all  corners  of  Egypt  and  the  Soudan,  bringing 
many  letters  and  foreign  newspapers;  and  before  he  had 
time  to  reflect  on  what  he  was  doing  he  had  answered : 

"  Yes,  such  help  is  exactly  what  I  need." 

If  any  eyes  less  dim  than  old  Mahmud's  had  been  there 
at  that  moment  they  would  have  seen  a  look  of  triumph  in 
the  lady's  face  which  she  vainly  struggled  to  conceal.  But 
at  the  next  moment  it  was  full  of  humility  and  gratitude 
as  she  bowed  herself  out  and  promised  to  come  again  the 
following  day. 

Hardly  had  the  lady  gone  when  Ishmael's  simple  nature 
began  to  recover  itself  from  the  spell  of  her  sex  and  beauty, 
but  the  old  uncle's  admiration  was  quite  ungovernable,  and 
he  began  to  hint  at  the  possibility  of  yet  more  intimate  re- 
lations between  his  nephew  and  the  devoted  young  Mus- 
lemah. 

"  I  have  always  told  you  that  yoia  ought  to  marry  again 
— a  good  woman  and  a  believer,"  he  said,  whereupon  Ish- 
mael, with  the  ecstasy  created  by  the  "  Princess's  "  loveliness 
still  shining  in  his  eyes,  answered: 

"  No !  I  have  always  said,  '  No,  no,  by  Allah !  One  wife 
I  had,  and,  though  she  was  a  Christian  and  had  been  a  slave, 
I  loved  her,  and  never,  never  shall  another  woman  take  her 
place!" 

"  Ah,  well,  God  knows  best  what  to  do  with  us,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  But  life  is  a  passing  shadow  and  youth  a 
departing  guest." 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  265 

Next  morning  the  white  lady  came  according  to  ap- 
pointment and  Ishmael  set  her  to  read  some  European  news- 
papers containing  accounts  of  recent  doings  in  Cairo. 

She  was  translating  these  newspapers  aloud  when  Ish- 
mael's  little  daughter  Ayesha  came  bounding  into  the  house, 
followed  by  her  nurse,  the  Arab  woman,  Zenoba — the  child 
barefoot  as  her  mother  used  to  be,  and  with  her  mother's 
beautiful  erect  confidence  as  she  moved  about,  lightly  clad, 
with  her  middle  small-girt  by  a  scarlet  sash  over  her  pure 
white  shirt — the  woman  in  her  blue  habareh  and  with  a 
silver  ring  in  her  nose. 

Ishmael  presented  both  of  them  to  the  lady,  whereupon 
the  child  by  an  instinctive  impulse  ran  over  to  her  and 
kissed  her  hand  and  held  it,  but  the  Arab  woman  only  bowed 
with  a  look  of  mistrust,  and,  as  long  as  she  remained  in  the 
guest-room,  continued  to  watch  her  furtively  out  of  the  side- 
long slits  of  her  eyes. 

The  Arab  woman's  obvious  mistrust  made  more  impres- 
sion upon  Ishmael  than  his  daughter's  spontaneous  liking, 
for  as  soon  as  he  was  alone  with  the  lady  again,  he  began 
to  talk  to  her  of  the  gravity  of  the  task  he  had  undertaken 
and  of  the  need  for  caution  and  even  secrecy  with  respect 
to  all  his  doings. 

The  lady's  brilliant  eyes  glistened  under  their  long  black 
lashes  as  she  listened  to  him,  and  she  answered  his  warnings 
with  assuring  words,  until,  coming  to  closer  quarters,  he 
proposed  that  for  his  people's  sake  rather  than  his  own  she 
should  take  an  oath  of  fidelity  to  him  and  to  his  cause. 

At  that  she  looked  startled,  and  could  with  difficulty  con- 
ceal her  agitation.  And  when  he  went  on  to  recite  the  terms 
of  the  oath  to  her — solemn  terms,  taking  God  and  his 
prophet  to  witness  that  she  would  never  reveal  anything 
which  came  to  her  knowledge  within  the  Avails  of  that  house 
— she  seemed  to  be  stifling  with  a  sense  of  fear  and  shame. 

Xot  as  such,  however,  did  Ishmael's  unsuspecting  nature 
recognise  the  lady's  embarrassment,  but  setting  it  down  to 
the  heat  of  the  day,  for  the  khamseen,  the  hot  wind,  was 
blowing,  he  clapped  his  hands  for  water. 

The  Arab   woman  brought   it   in,   although  it  was   Ab- 


266  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

dullah's  task  to  do  so,  and  she  ling:ered  long  in  the  room 
and  looked  searchingly  at  the  lady  while  Ishmael  again  re- 
cited his  oath. 

The  lady  did  not  at  first  respond,  but  continued  to  look 
out  at  the  open  door  on  to  the  slow  waters  of  the  White 
Nile,  and  there  was  silence  in  the  air  both  within  and  with- 
out, save  for  the  far-off  hammering  from  the  dockyards 
across  the  river. 

At  length  she  asked  in  a  tremulous  voice : 

"  Master,  is  this  necessary  ?  " 

Ishmael  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"  No,  it  is  not  necessary,  and  we  shall  do  without  it. 
What  says  the  Lord  of  the  Christians  ?  '  Swear  not  at  all, 
neither  by  heaven,  for  it  is  God's  throne;  nor  by  the  earth, 
for  it  is  his  footstool.' " 

With  that  the  lady  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  and 
went  on  with  her  foreign  newspapers. 


IV 

Hardly  had  the  "  Princess  "  gone  for  the  day  when  the 
Arab  woman,  Zenoba,  with  all  her  dusky  face  contracted 
into  lines  of  jealousy,  came  to  Ishmael  to  warn  him. 

"Forgive  me,  O  Master!"  she  said,  "if  the  thing  T  say 
displeases  you." 

"What  is  it,  O  Zenoba?"  asked  Ishmael. 

"  Is  it  well  to  trust  the  secrets  of  God  and  of  His  people 
to  two  tongues  and  four  eyes  ? " 

Ishmael's  face  darkened  visibly,  but  he  held  himself  in 
check,  and  answered  with  dignity: 

"  Zenoba,  ask  pardon  of  God  for  a  suspicious  mind.  The 
least  of  all  noble  traits  is  to  keep  a  secret,  the  greatest  is  to 
forget  that  you  have  confided  it." 

The  Arab  woman  was  stung  by  the  rebuke,  but  assuming 
the  meekest  expression  of  face  she  changed  her  course  en- 
tirely. 

"  Master,  T  beg  of  you  to  listen  to  me  until  I  have  done," 

1ft 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WOELD  267 

she  said,  and  tlicn  she  began  to  talk  of  the  visits  of  the 
■white  lady. 

The  lady  was  young  and  beautiful.  Evil  minds  were 
many.  If  she  was  to  come  to  Ishmael's  house  every  day 
and  to  be  closeted  alone  with  him,  what  would  people  say? 

"  Forgive  me,  O  Master !  it  is  nothing  to  me,  and  I  have 
no  right  to  speak,"  said  the  Arab  woman,  with  the  agony 
of  a  jealous  spirit  imprinted  on  every  feature  of  her  face. 
"  I  only  wish  to  put  you  on  your  guard  against  the  slander- 
ous tongues  that  would  love  to  injure  you." 

Ishmael  listened  to  her  with  the  look  of  a  man  who  had 
never  once  reflected  on  the  interpretation  that  might  be  put 
upon  his  conduct,  and  then  he  said : 

"  You  are  right,  O  Zenoba !  and  I  thank  you  for  remind- 
ing me  of  something  I  had  permitted  myself  to  forget." 

When  the  white  lady  came  next  day  Ishmael  began  to 
speak  to  her  about  her  position  in  his  house. 

"  My  sister,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  thinking  this  is  not 
good.  The  thoughts  of  the  world  are  evil,  and  if  you  con- 
tinue to  come  here  according  to  the  agreement  we  made 
together  your  pure  name  will  be  tarnished." 

The  lady's  brows  contracted  slightly,  for  it  flashed  upon 
her  that  Ishmael  was  about  to  send  her  away.  But  that  was 
not  his  intention,  and  in  the  winding  way  of  Eastern  ex- 
planations he  proceeded  to  propound  his  plan. 

"  When  the  Prophet — to  him  be  prayer  and  peace ! — lost 
his  first  wife,  Khadija,  the  mother  of  Islam,  and  took  a 
second  wife  it  was  a  widow,  well  stricken  in  years,  and  with- 
out wealth  or  beauty.  Why  did  the  Prophet  marry  her? 
That  he  might  care  for  her  and  protect  her  and  shield  her 
from  every  ill." 

The  lady  looked  on  the  ground  and  listened.  A  strange 
sensation  of  joy  mingled  with  fear  took  possession  of  her, 
for  she  saw  what  Ishmael  was  going  to  say. 

"  If  the  Prophet  did  this  for  her  who  was  so  far  removed 
from  the  slanders  of  evil  tongues,  shall  not  his  servant  do  as 
much  for  one  who  is  young  and  beautiful  ?  " 

The  lady's  head  began  to  swim,  and  the  ground  to  sway 
under  her  feet  as  if  she  were  on  a  rolling  ship  at  sea,  but 


268  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Ishmael  saw  nothing  in  her  agitation  but  modesty,  and  he 
went  on  in  a  soft  voice  to  tell  her  what  he  wished  to  do. 

He  wished  to  marry  her,  that  is  to  say,  to  betroth  him- 
self to  her,  to  make  her  his  wife,  his  spiritual  wife,  his  wife 
in  name  only — never  to  be  claimed  of  him  as  a  husband,  for, 
besides  his  consecration  to  the  great  task  he  had  undertaken 
for  God,  there  was  a  vow  he  had  made  to  the  memory  of 
one  who  was  dead,  and  both  forbade  him  ever  to  think  again 
of  the  joys  of  the  life  of  a  man. 

The  lady  was  now  totally  unable  to  conceal  her  agitation, 
and  taking  out  her  handkerchief  she  kept  running  her 
trembling  fingers  along  the  hem.  She  was  asking  herself 
what  she  could  do,  how  she  could  reply,  for  she  could  plainly 
see  that  the  Oriental  in  Ishmael  had  never  for  one  instant 
allowed  him  to  think  that  if  he  were  willing  to  give  her 
the  protection  of  his  name  she  could  have  any  possible  ob- 
jection. 

It  was  the  still  hour  of  noon,  and  pale  with  fear  she  sat 
silent  for  a  moment  looking  into  the  palpitating  air  that 
floated  over  the  glistening  waters  of  the  Nile.  Then  assum- 
ing, as  well  as  she  could,  an  expression  of  humility  and  con- 
fusion, she  said,  while  her  heart  was  beating  violently: 

"  Master,  it  is  too  much  honour — I  can  hardly  think 
of  it." 

He  could  see  by  her  face  how  hard  she  fought  with  her- 
self, but  still  taking  her  agitation  for  maidenly  modesty  he 
dropped  his  voice  and  whispered : 

"  Do  not  decide  at  once.  Wait  a  little.  Go  away  now, 
and  think  of  what  I  have  said." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  help  her  to  her  feet,  and  she 
went  off  with  an  unsteady  step,  first  stopping,  then  going 
quickly,  as  if  she  had  an  impulse  to  speak  again  and  could 
not  do  so,  because  of  the  feeling,  akin  to  terror,  which 
seemed  to  stifle  her. 

If  any  one,  following  the  white  lady  to  hor  lodging  in 
the  Greek  widow's  house,  had  been  able  to  look  into  the 
depths  of  her  soul,  he  would  have  found  a  tragic  struggle 
going  on  there,  A  score  of  conflicting  voices  were  clamour- 
ing to  be  heard  at  once.    "  What  am  I  doing?  "    "  Where  am 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  269 

I  ?  "  "  Am  I  myself,  or  some  one  else  ?  "  "  Don't  take  on  this 
fearful  responsibility  to  such  a  man."  "  But  I  must  do  so, 
or  I  can  do  nothing."  "I  must  go  on  or  else  go  back." 
"  But  isn't  this  going  too  far?  "  "  Nonsense,  this  is  no  mar- 
riage: it  is  merely  a  nominal  union — a  betrothal.  I  shall 
only  be  his  wife  pro  forma.  According  to  an  alien  faith, 
too,  a  faith  that  does  not  bind  my  conscience."  "  It  must  be 
done — it  shall !  " 

When  the  white  lady  returned  to  Ishmael's  house  on 
the  following  day  it  was  wath  a  firm,  decided  step,  as  if  she 
were  lifted  up  and  sustained  by  some  invisible  power.  With 
a  strange  light  in  her  eyes  and  an  expression  in  her  face 
that  he  had  never  seen  there  before,  she  told  him  that  she 
agreed  to  his  proposal. 

He  received  her  consent  with  a  glad  cry,  and  clapping 
his  hands  to  summon  his  household  he  announced  the  good 
news  to  them  Avith  a  bright  look  and  a  happy  voice. 

The  old  uncle  was  overjoyed,  and  little  Ayesha  leaped 
into  the  lady's  arms  and  kissed  her,  but  Zenoba,  with  a 
face  full  of  confusion,  drew  Ishmael  aside  and  began  to 
stammer  out  objections  and  difficulties.  The  house  was 
small,  there  was  no  separate  room  for  the  white  lady.  Then 
her  black  boy — there  was  not  even  a  corner  that  could  be 
occupied  by  him. 

"  Put  the  Rani  in  the  room  with  the  child,  and  let  the 
boy  sleep  on  the  mat  at  her  door,"  said  Ishmael,  and  without 
more  ado  he  went  on  to  make  arrangements  for  the  wedding. 

The  arrangements  were  few,  for  Ishmael  determined  that 
the  marriage  should  be  concluded  immediately  and  con- 
ducted without  any  kind  of  pomp. 

But  in  order  that  all  his  world  might  know  what  he  was 
doing  he  invited  the  Cadi  of  Khartoum  to  make  the  contract, 
and  then,  having  sent  the  lady  to  her  lodging,  he  set  out 
to  fetch  her  back  on  the  milk-white  camel  he  usually  rode 
himself. 

It  was  Sunday,  and  the  sun  had  gone  down  in  a  blaze  of 

red   as   he  walked  by  the  camel's   side  through   the  native 

quarter  of  the    town  with    the   white   lady — the   Rani,   the 

Princess — wearing  a  gold-edged  muslin  shawl  over  her  head 

19 


270  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

and  descending  to  her  shoulders,  riding  on  the  crimson  sad- 
dle fringed  with  cowries. 

By  the  time  they  reached  old  Mahmud's  house  it  was 
full  of  guests  in  wedding  garments,  gorgeous  in  crimson 
curtains  hanging  over  all  the  walls,  and  illuminated  by 
countless  lamps  both  large  and  small. 

But  the  ceremony  was  of  the  simplest. 

First,  the  Fatihah  (the  first  chapter  of  the  Koran),  re- 
cited by  the  whole  company  standing,  and  then  the  bride 
and  bridegroom  on  the  ground,  face  to  face,  grasping  each 
other's  hands. 

Down  to  this  moment  the  white  lady  had  been  sus- 
tained by  the  same  invisible  power,  as  if  clad  in  an  impene- 
trable armour  of  defiance  which  no  other  emotion  could 
pierce;  but  when  the  Cadi  stepped  forward  and  placed  a 
handkerchief  over  the  clasped  hands  and  began  to  say  some 
words  of  prayer,  she  felt  faint,  and  could  scarcely  breathe. 

With  a  struggle,  nevertheless,  she  recovered  herself  when 
the  Cadi,  leaning  over  her,  told  her  in  a  low  voice  to  repeat 
after  him  the  words  that  he  should  speak : 

"  I  betroth  myself  to  thee — to  serve  thee  and  to  submit 
to  thee " 

"  I  betroth  myself  to  thee — to  sei-ve — to  serve  thee — and 
to — to  submit  to  thee " 

With  an  effort  she  got  the  words  spoken,  feeling  numb 
at  her  heart  and  with  a  sense  of  darkness  coming  over  her, 
but  being  spurred  at  last  by  sight  of  the  Arab  woman's  glit- 
tering eyes  watching  her  intently. 

But  when  the  Cadi  turned  from  her  to  Ishmael,  and  the 
bridegroom,  in  his  throbbing  voice,  said  loudly: 

"  And  I  accept  thy  betrothal  and  take  thee  under  my 
care,  and  bind  myself  to  afford  thee  my  protection,  as  ye 
who  are  here  bear  witness,"  she  felt  as  if  the  tempest  of 
darkness  had  overwhelmed  her  and  she  were  falling,  falling, 
falling  into  a  bottomless  abyss. 

When  the  lady  came  to  herself  again  the  Arab  woman 
was  holding  a  dish  of  water  to  her  mouth,  and  her  own 
black  boy,  with  big  tears  like  beads  dropping  out  of  his 
eyes,  was  fanning  her  with  a  fan  of  ostrich  feathers. 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  271 

But  now  the  people,  who  had  been  saying  among  them- 
selves, in  astonishment  at  such  maimed  rites,  "  Is  this  a 
widow  or  a  divorced  woman  ? "  being  determined  not  to  be 
done  out  of  such  marriage  fetes  as  they  considered  only 
decent,  had  begun  to  gather  in  front  of  the  house,  the  men 
in  their  brown  skull  caps  and  blue  galabiahs,  the  married 
women  in  their  black  silk  habarahs  with  silver  rings  in  their 
noses,  and  the  unmarried  girls  in  their  white  scarves  with 
coins  in  their  hair  and  with  big  silver  anklets. 

And  while  the  Sheikhs  and  Notables  within,  sitting  on 
the  dikkahs  around  the  guest-room,  listened  to  a  blind  man's 
chanting  of  the  Koran,  the  peasant  people,  squatting  on  the 
sand  under  the  stars,  employed  themselves  after  their  own 
fashion  with  the  beating  of  drums,  big  and  little,  the  play- 
ing of  pipes,  and  the  singing  of  love  songs.  And  through 
and  among  them  as  they  huddled  together,  with  their  faces 
to  the  illuminated  house  of  joy,  and  both  the  bride  and  the 
bridegroom  before  them,  a  water-carrier,  a  Sakka,  went 
about  with  his  water-skin  and  a  brass  cup,  distributing 
drinks  of  water;  a  girl,  with  jingling  jewels,  squirted  scent; 
and  Abdullah  and  Black  Zogal,  showing  their  shining  white 
teeth  in  their  happiness  and  pride,  handed  round  sweet- 
meats and  cups  of  thick  coffee. 

Meantime  the  white  lady  sat,  with  her  flushed  face  un- 
covered and  her  gold-edged  veil  thrown  back,  where  Ishmael 
had  placed  her,  near  to  the  threshold,  in  order  that,  contrary 
to  bad  custom,  the  people  might  see  her;  and  the  child,  with 
its  sweet  olive-brown  face,  sat  by  her  side,  almost  on  her 
lap,  amusing  herself  by  holding  her  hand  and  drawing  off 
and  putting  on  a  beautiful  diamond  ring  which  she  wore  on 
the  third  finger  of  her  left  hand. 

That  innocent  action  of  the  sweet  child  seemed  to  tor- 
ture the  lady  at  certain  moments,  and  never  more  than 
when  one  of  the  male  singers,  sitting  close  beneath  her.  sang 
a  camel-boy's  song  of  love.  He  was  far  away  on  the  desert, 
but  the  soft  eyes  of  the  gazelle  recalled  the  timid  looks  of 
his  beloved.  And  when  he  reached  the  oasis  in  the  midst 
of  the  wilderness,  the  song  of  the  bird  in  the  date  tree 
brought  back  the  voice  of  his  darling. 


272  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

As  soon  as  the  singer  finished,  the  women  on  the  ground 
made  their  shrill  quavei-iiig  cry  of  joy,  the  zaghareet,  and 
then  the  white  lady  drew  her  hand  away  from  the  child 
with  an  abrupt  and  almost  angry  gesture. 

After  that  she  sat  for  a  long  hour  without  stirring, 
merely  gazing  out  on  the  people  in  front  of  the  house  as  if 
she  saw  and  comprehended  nothing.  A  taste  of  bitterness 
was  in  her  mouth,  and  as  often  as  she  was  recalled  to  herself 
by  some  question  addressed  to  her  she  looked  as  if  she 
wished  to  disappear  from  sight  altogether. 

At  length  she  thought  her  torture  was  at  an  end,  for  the 
Cadi  rose  and  said  in  a  loud  voice: 

"  If  your  friend  is  sweet  do  not  eat  him  up,"  whereupon 
the  tom-toms  were  silenced  and  with  a  laugh  everybody  rose, 
and  then,  all  standing,  the  whole  company  chanted  the 
Patihah: 

"  Praise  be  to  God,  the  Lord  of  all  creatures,  the  most 
merciful,  the  King  of  the  Day  of  Judgment.  Thee  do 
we  worship  and  of  Thee  do  we  beg  assistance.  Direct 
us  in  the  right  way,  in  the  way  of  those  to  whom  Thou 
hast  been  gracious ;  not  of  those  against  whom  Thou  art 
incensed,  nor  of  those  who  go  astray." 

The  solemn  words  died  away  like  a  receding  wave  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd,  and  then  the  people  broke  up  and 
went  back  to  their  houses  and  tents,  leaving  Ishmacl  and 
his  household  together.  A  little  later  the  household  also 
separated  for  the  night,  the  child,  now  very  sleepy,  being 
carried  to  bed  by  her  nurse,  and  old  Mahmud  shuffling  off 
to  his  room  after  saying  to  the  white  lady : 

"  An  old  man's  blessing  can  do  you  no  harm,  my  daugh- 
ter; therefore  God  bless  you  and  bring  you  joyful  increase." 

The  white  lady  was  now  alone  with  Ishmael,  and  her 
agitation  increased  tenfold. 

"  Let  us  sit  again  for  a  while,"  he  said  in  a  soft  voice, 
and  leading  her  to  one  of  the  wooden  benches,  covered  with 
carpet,  which  faced  the  open  front  of  the  house,  he  placed 
himself  beside  her. 

There  the  moon  was  on  their  faces,  and  from  time  to 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  273 

time  there  was  a  silvery  rain  of  southern  stars.  They  sat 
for  a  -while  in  silence,  she  with  a  sense  of  shame,  he  with  a 
momentary  thrill  of  passion  that  came  up  from  the  place 
where  he  was  no  longer  a  prophet  but  a  man. 

She  felt  that  he  was  tr^-ing  to  look  into  her  face  with  his 
lustrous  black  eyes,  and  she  wished  to  turn  away  from  him. 
This  brought  the  colour  of  hot  blood  into  her  cheeks  and 
only  made  her  the  more  beautiful. 

A  sense  of  physical  fear  began  to  take  possession  of  her, 
and  a  storm  of  thoughts  and  memories  came  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. She  could  not  express  even  to  her  own  mind 
the  intricacies  of  her  emotions.  This  man  was  an  Orien- 
tal, and  she  believed  him  to  be  capable  of  treachery  and 
guilty  of  violence.  Yet  she  was  his  wife,  according  to 
his  own  view,  and  what  at  this  moment,  when  they  were 
alone,  was  the  worth  of  the  pledge  whereby  she  (for  her 
own  purposes)  had  consented  to  be  his  wife  in  name  only, 
his  betrothed ! 

Her  nervousness  increased  every  moment.  When  he 
touched  her  arm,  she  recoiled  slightly  and  felt  her  skin 
creep.  He  seemed  to  be  conscious  of  this,  for  he  sat  by  her 
side  a  little  longer  without  speaking. 

The  silence  of  night  was  on  the  desert  and  along  the 
moon  track  across  the  river  as  far  as  to  the  ruined  dome  of 
the  Mahdi's  tomb,  which  seemed  so  threatening  and  so  near. 

At  length,  in  a  soft  voice,  he  said,  "  Come,"  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  help  her  to  rise. 

She  rose,  trembling  all  over  with  fright  and  a  sort  of 
physical  humiliation — she  who  had  always  been  so  proud, 
so  strong,  so  brave. 

He  led  her  to  the  women's  side  of  the  house,  without 
speaking  a  word  until  they  got  there,  and  then,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  he  said : 

"  You  sleep  here  with  little  Ayesha.  May  your  night  be 
happy  and  yoiir  morning  good !  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  as  he  recommended  her  to  God, 
and  was  amazed  at  the  calm,  luminous  face  that  now  met 
her  own.     At  the  next  moment  he  was  gone. 

It  was  an  immense  relief  to  find  herself  in  her  bedroom. 


274  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

where  a  little  open  lamp  was  burning,  and  there  was  no 
sound  but  the  soft  and  measured  breathing  of  the  child,  who 
was  asleep  in  bed. 

At  the  first  moment  the  sleeping  child  was  like  a  great 
protector,  but  when  she  became  calmer  and  began  to  think 
of  this  she  felt  the  more  ashamed. 

"  What  impossible,  terrible  thing  has  happened  ?  "  she 
thought,  and  then  she  asked  herself  again,  "  Am  I  really 
myself,  or  some  one  else  ? " 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done  ? "  she  thought,  and  a  sense  of 
sin  took  possession  of  her,  which  was  almost  like  that  which 
a  good  woman  feels  when  she  has  committed  adultery. 

"  It  is  terrible,  but  it  is  inevitable,"  she  thought,  and 
then  she  fought  against  the  sentiment  of  shame  which  op- 
pressed her  by  telling  herself  that  Ishmael  was  a  crafty 
hypocrite,  whose  soft  words  were  a  sham,  whose  religion  was 
a  lie,  whose  wicked  deeds  deserved  punishment  at  any  price 
whatever. 

"  But  no,  I  cannot  think  of  that  now,"  she  thought,  and 
after  a  while  she  turned  the  light  bedclothes  aside,  and,  put- 
ting out  the  lamp,  got  into  bed  by  the  side  of  the  child, 
who  was  smelling  sweet  with  the  soft  odours  of  sleep. 

She  lay  a  long  time  motionless,  with  her  eyes  open,  and 
still  the  horror  of  what  she  had  done  weighed  on  her  like  a 
nightmare.  Then  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  and 
the  image  of  another  filled  her  with  emotions  that  were  at 
once  sweet  and  bitter.  With  a  woman's  sense  of  injustice 
she  was  blaming  the  absent  one  for  the  position  of  shame 
in  which  she  found  herself. 

"Why  did  he  choose  this  man  instead  of  me?"  she 
thought,  and  then,  at  last,  in  the  fiercest  fire  of  jealousy  and 
hatred,  weeping  bitter  tears  in  the  darkness,  she  reconciled 
her  tormented  conscience  to  everything  she  had  done,  every- 
thing she  intended  to  do,  by  saying  to  herself  with  quiver- 
ing lips : 

"He  killed  my  father!'' 

At  that  moment  she  was  startled  by  a  voice  outside  that 
broke  sharp  and  harsh  upon  the  silence  of  the  night: 

"  There  is  no  god  but  God !     There  is  no  god  but  God !  " 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  275 

It  was  Black  Zogal,  the  half-witted  Xubian,  crying"  the 
confession  of  faith  at  the  door  of  Ishmael's  house. 

The  Lady,  the  White  Lady,  the  Eani,  the  Princess,  was 
Helena  Graves. 


V 

While  Ishmael's  followers  had  been  squatting  on  the 
sands  to  celebrate  his  betrothal  the  Sirdar  had  been  having 
a  dinner-party  in  the  palace,  composed  of  the  chief  officers 
of  his  military  government  and  the  cream  of  the  British 
society  at  Khartoum. 

Toward  ten  o'clock  the  large  after-dinner  group  of  ladies 
in  low-cut  corsage,  showing  white  arms  and  shoulders,  and 
officers  in  full-dress  uniform,  had  come  out  on  to  the  terrace 
with  its  open  arches  and  its  handsome  steps  sweeping  down 
to  the  silent  garden. 

Below  were  the  broad  lawns,  the  mimosa  trees  filling  the 
night  air  with  perfume,  the  trembling  sycamores  and  the 
tall  dates,  sleeping  under  the  great  deep  heaven  with  its 
stars.  Behind  was  the  lamp-lit  palace  from  which  native 
servants  in  gold-embroidered  crimson  were  carrying  silver 
trays  laden  with  decanters  and  glasses  and  small  cups  and 
saucers. 

It  was  almost  the  spot  on  which  "  the  martyr  of  the 
Soudan"  fell  under  the  lances  of  the  dervishes,  yet  one  of 
the  Sirdar's  servants,  Abdullahi,  with  three  cross-cuts  on  his 
cheeks,  his  tribal  mark  as  a  son  of  the  bloodthirsty  Baggara, 
and  with  the  pleasantest  of  smiles  on  his  walnut-coloured 
face,  was  drawing  corks,  pouring  out  whisky  and  soda-water, 
and  striking  matches  to  light  the  men's  cigarettes. 

The  company  was  full  of  the  gaiety  and  animation  which 
comes  after  a  pleasant  dinner,  with  a  little  of  the  excite- 
ment which  follows  when  people  have  partaken  of  wine. 
The  eyes  of  the  ladies  sparkled  and  the  faces  of  the  men 
smiled,  and  both  talked  freely  and  laughed  a  good  deal. 

The  conversation  was  made  up  of  triiles  until  one  of  the 


276  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

ladies — it  was  the  wife  of  the  Governor  of  the  city,  clad  in 
the  lightest  of  lace  chiffon  gowns  and  shod  in  yellow  satin 
slippei"s — inquired  the  meaning  of  the  sounds  of  rejoicing, 
the  blowing  of  pipes  and  the  beating  of  tom-toms,  which  had 
come  through  the  wide-open  windows  of  the  palace  from  the 
direction  of  the  native  quarter. 

To  this  question  the  Inspector-General  of  the  Soudan — 
an  English  Pasha,  whose  gold-laced  tunic  was  half  covered 
with  medals — replied  that  the  new  prophet,  who  had  lately 
arrived  in  Khartoum,  had  that  day  taken  to  himself  a  wife. 

"How  interesting!  ^'  cried  the  ladies  in  chorus,  with  a 
note  of  laughter  that  was  intended  to  belie  the  word,  and 
then  the  lady  in  the  yellow  slippers  turned  to  the  Inspector- 
General  and  said : 

"  Of  course  he  has  as  many  as  the  Mahdi  already — but 
who  is  the  new  one,  I  wonder  ? " 

"  'No,  he  has  only  one  wife  at  present — runs  'em  tandem, 
I  hear — and  the  new  bride  is  the  beautiful  person  in  Parsee 
costume  who  arrived  here  about  the  same  time  as  himself." 

"  The  Mohammedan  Rani,  you  mean  ?  My  husband  tells 
me  she  is  perfectly  lovely.  But  they  say  she  will  never  let 
a  European  get  a  glimpse  of  her  face — puts  down  her  Parsee 
veil,  I  suppose — so  goodness  knows  how  he  knows,  you 
know." 

"Perhaps  your  husband  is  a  privileged  person,  my  dear!  " 
said  one  of  the  other  ladies,  whereupon  there  was  a  trill  of 
laughter  and  the  little  feet  in  satin  slippers  were  beaten 
upon  the  floor. 

"  But  a  Rani !  Think  of  that !  Who  can  she  be,  I  won- 
der?" said  another  of  the  ladies,  and  then  the  mistress  of 
the  palace,  Lady  Mannering,  hinted  that  she  believed  the 
Sirdar  knew  something  about  her. 

"  Oh,  tell  us !  Tell  us !  "  cried  a  dozen  female  voices  at 
once;  but  the  Sirdar,  a  shrewd  and  kindly  autocrat  who  had 
been  smoking  a  cigarette  in  silence,  merely  answered: 

"  Time  will  tell  you,  perhaps."  Then  turning  to  the  In- 
spector-General he  said: 

"  She  has  married  the  man,  you  say  ? " 

"  That's  so,  your  E.xcellency." 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  277 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake  about  that,  surely," 

The  company  broke  up  late,  and  the  ladies  went  off  in 
light  wraps  and  the  men  bare-headed  through  the  soft,  re- 
verberant air  of  the  southern  night.  But  the  Sirdar  had 
asked  certain  of  his  officers  to  remain  for  a  few  moments, 
and  among  them  were  the  Inspector-General,  the  Financial 
Secretary,  and  the  Governor  of  the  town.  To  the  latter 
came  his  Zabit,  a  police  officer,  whose  duty  it  was  to  report 
to  his  chief  early  and  late,  and  as  soon  as  the  men  had 
seated  themselves  the  Sirdar  said : 

"  Any  further  news  about  this  man  Ishmael  Ameer?  " 

"  None,  your  Excellency,"  said  the  Governor. 

"  You've  discovered  nothing  about  his  object  in  coming 
here?" 

"Nothing  at   all." 

"  He  is  not  sowing  dissension  between  Moslems  and 
Christians?" 

"  No !  On  the  contrary  he  professes  to  be  opposed  to  all 
that,  sir." 

"  Then  you  see  no  reason  to  think  that  he  is  likely  to  be 
a  danger  to  the  public  peace  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately  no,  sir,  no !  " 

The  Sirdar  laughed.  "  He  hasn't  yet  given  *  divine ' 
sanction  for  your  removal,  Colonel  ? " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of  at  all  events." 

"  Then  you  and  your  wife  may  sleep  in  peace  for  the 
present,  I  suppose." 

There  was  a  little  general  laughter,  and  then  the  In- 
spector-General, a  sceptic  with  a  contempt  for  holy  men  of 
all  kinds,  said : 

"  All  the  same,  your  Excellency,  I  should  make  short 
work  of  this  pseudo-Messiah." 

"  "Without  plain  cause  we  cannot,"  said  the  Sirdar,  who 
was  the  friend  of  all  faiths  and  the  enemy  of  none.  "  In- 
deed, a  broad-minded  Mohammedan  such  as  this  man  is  said 
to  be  might  possibly  be  of  service  in  directing  the  religion 
of  the  Soudan." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  too  many  of  these  religious  celebrities  are 
contaminated  by  Mahdism." 


278  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Surely  Mahdism  is  dead,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Not  yet,  sir !  Only  yesterday  I  saw  a  man  kneeling  by 
the  Mahdi's  tomb — so  hard  do  religions  die!  As  for  this 
man  Ishmael,  he  may  be  preaching  peace  while  he  is  gath- 
ering his  followers,  but  wait  till  they're  numerous  enough 
to  fight,  and  you'll  see  what  he  will  do.  Besides,  isn't  there 
evidence  enough  already  that  the  tranquillity  of  the  Soudan 
has  been  disturbed  ?  " 

"  What  evidence  do  you  mean  i  " 

"  I  mean — my  informers  all  over  the  country  tell  me  the 
people  are  no  longer  pleading  poverty  as  an  excuse  for  re- 
mission of  taxation — they  are  boldly  refusing  to  pay." 

The  Financial  Secretary  corroborated  this  statement, 
saying  that  the  taxes  due  on  the  land  and  the  date  trees 
had  not  yet  been  collected,  and  that  he  had  heard  from 
Cairo  that  the  same  difficulty  was  being  met  with  in  Egypt 
in  respect  of  the  taxes  on  berseem  and  wheat. 

"  You  mean,"  said  the  Sirdar,  "  that  a  conspiracy  of 
passive  resistance  to  the  Government  has  been  set  afoot  ? " 

"  It  looks  like  it,  sir,"  said  the  Inspector-General.  "  A 
pretty  insidious  kind  of  conspiracy  it  is,  too,  and  I  think  all 
the  signs  are  that  Ishmael  Ameer  is  at  the  head  of  it." 

There  was  silence  for  some  minutes,  during  which  the 
Sirdar  was  telling  himself  that  if  this  was  so  the  rule  of 
England  in  Egypt  was  face  to  face  with  a  most  subtle 
enemy — subtler  far  than  the  Mahdi  and  immeasurably  more 
dangerous. 

"  Well,  the  first  thing  we've  got  to  do  is  to  find  out  the 
truth,"  he  said,  and  with  that  he  gave  the  Zabit  an  order 
to  summon  the  Ulema  of  Khartoum,  the  Cadi,  the  Notables 
and  Sheikhs  to  a  meeting  in  the  palace. 

"  Let  it  be  soon,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  secret." 

"  Certainly,  your  Excellency." 

The  Governor  and  the  Financial  Secretary  went  off  with 
the  police  officer,  but  for  some  minutes  longer  the  Inspeetor- 
Geiaeral  remained  with  the  Sirdar. 

"  If  the  man  were  likely  to  cause  a  disturbance,"  said 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  279 

the  Sirdar,  "  it  would  be  easy  to  deal  with  him,  but  he's  not. 
Public  security  is  in  no  present  danger.  On  the  contrary, 
everything  I  hear  of  the  man's  teaching  is  calculated  to  pro- 
mote peace." 

"  As  to  that,  sir,  if  you  believe  all  he  says,  he  is  the 
prince  of  peace  himself,  and  his  Islam  isn't  Islam  at  all  as 
we  know  it,  but  something  quite  different." 

"  If  he  were  claiming  '  divine '  authority  and  telling 
people  to  resist  the  Government " 

"  Oh,  he  is  far  too  clever  for  that,  sir,  and  his  conspiracy 
is  the  deep-laid  plan  of  a  subtle  impostor,  not  the  unpre- 
meditated action  of  a  lunatic." 

"  All  I  hear  about  his  personal  character  is  good,"  said 
the  Sirdar.  "  He  is  tender  to  children,  charitable  to  the 
poor,  and  weeps  like  a  woman  at  a  story  of  distress." 

The  Inspector-General  laughed. 

"Pepper  in  his  finger-nails — the  hoary  old  trick,  sir! 
Good-night,  Sirdar!" 

"  Good-night,  Colonel !  "  And  the  Inspector-General  de- 
scended the  steps. 

Being  left  alone,  the  Sirdar  walked  for  a  long  hour  to 
and  fro  on  the  terrace,  trying  to  see  what  course  he  ought 
to  take  in  dealing  with  a  religious  leader  who  differed  so 
dangerously  from  the  holy  men  that  vpere  more  trouble- 
some but  hardly  more  deadly  than  the  sand-flies  of  the 
desert. 

At  midnight  he  found  himself  standing  on  the  very  spot 
on  •which  General  Gordon  met  his  death,  and  in  an  instant, 
as  by  a  flash  of  mental  lightning,  he  saw  the  scene  that  had 
been  enacted  there  only  a  few  years  before — the  gray  dawn, 
the  mad  rush  of  the  howling  dervishes  in  their  lust  of  blood, 
up  from  the  dim  garden  to  the  top  of  these  steps,  on  which 
stood,  calmly  waiting  for  them,  the  fearless  soul  who  had 
waited  for  his  own  countrymen  in  vain.  "  Where  is  your 
Master,  the  Mahdi  ?  "  he  cried.  Then  a  barbarous  shriek,  the 
flash  of  a  score  of  lances,  and  the  martyr  of  the  Soudan  fell. 

Was  this  to  be  another  such  revolt,  more  subtle  if  not 
more  bloody,  turning  England  out  of  the  Valley  of  the  Nile 
by  making  it   impossible   for  her  to   meet  the  expense  of 


280  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

governing  the  country,  and  thereby  uprooting  the  seeds  of 
civilisation  that  had  been  sown  in  the  Soudan  through  so 
many  toilsome  years? 

On  the  other  hand,  was  it  the  beginning  of  a  great  spir- 
itual revolution  that  was  intended  by  God  to  pass  over  the 
whole  face  of  the  world?  It  might  even  be  that,  though 
the  Soudan  was  only  a  brown  and  barren  wilderness,  for 
had  not  all  great  faiths  and  all  great  prophets  sprung  out 
of  the  desert — ^Moses,  Mohammed,  Christ ! 

This  brought  the  Sirdar  back  to  a  memory  that  had 
troubled  him  deeply  for  many  weeks — the  memory  of  the 
disgrace  that  had  fallen  in  Cairo  on  his  comrade  of  long 
ago  the  son  of  his  old  friend  Xunehara,  young  Gordon  Lord. 

Then  it  dawned  upon  him  for  the  first  time  that,  how- 
ever serious  his  oifence  as  a  soldier,  the  son  of  his  friend 
had  done  no  moi-e  and  no  less  than  his  great  namesake  did 
before  him  when  he  resisted  authority  because  authority 
was  in  the  wrong! 

Good  God!  could  it  be  possible  that  young  Gordon  was 
in  the  right  after  all,  and  that  this  movement  of  the  man 
Ishmael  was  the  beginning  of  a  world-wide  revolt  against 
the  materialism,  the  selfishness,  the  venality,  and  the  op- 
pression of  a  corrupt  civilisation  that  mocked  religion  by 
taking  the  name  of  Ilim  who  came  to  earth  to  destroy  such 
evils  ? 

If  that  was  so,  could  any  Christian  country  in  these 
days  dare  to  repeat  the  appalling  error  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire in  Palestine  two  thousand  years  ago — the  error  of  try- 
ing .to  put  down  moral  forces  by  physical  ones  ? 

The  Sirdar  laughed  when  he  thought  of  that,  so  grotesque 
seemed  the  mysterious  law  of  the  mind  by  which  he  had 
coupled  an  olive-faced  Arab  like  Ishmael  Ameer  with 
Christ ! 

The  southern  night  was  silent.  Not  a  sound  came  up 
from  the  moonlit  garden  except  the  croaking  of  frogs  in 
the  pond.  Presently  a  voice  that  was  like  a  wave  of  wind 
came  sweeping  through  the  breathless  air: 

"  There  is  no  god  but  God!     There  is  no  god  but  God!  " 

The  Sirdar  shuddered,  and  turned  into  the  house. 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  281 


VI 

Being  betrothed  to  Ishmael,  and  therefore  in  effect  hig 
wife,  Helena  had  now  no  diflficulty  in  reading  the  secret  he 
had  so  carefully  hidden  from  British  eyes.  Every  morning 
she  sat  with  him  in  the  guest-room  while  he  received  his 
messengers  and  agents,  and  if  they  demurred  at  her  pres- 
ence, being  distrustful  of  her  because  she  was  a  woman,  he 
would  say: 

"  Have  no  fear.  My  wife  is  myself.  Think  of  her  as  you 
think  of  me." 

Thus  little  by  little  she  realised  what  the  plan  of  his 
opposition  to  the  Government  had  been,  when,  in  Cairo, 
after  the  closing  of  El  Azhar,  he  had  sent  out  his  hundred 
emissaries.  It  was  to  tell  the  people  in  every  village  of 
Egypt  and  the  Soudan  to  pay  no  taxes  until  their  faith  was 
free  and  the  Government  took  its  hand  off  the  central  seat 
of  their  religion. 

She  also  realised  that  the  people  had  obeyed  Ishmael  and 
had  suffered  as  the  consequence.  Agents  were  coming  every 
day  with  secret  letters  and  messages  concealed  in  their  tur- 
bans, telling  of  the  pains  and  penalties  already  endured  by 
those  who  had  boldly  refused  to  pay  the  taxes  due  at  that 
season  of  the  year. 

At  first  these  lamentations  were  couched  after  Eastern 
manner  in  the  language  of  metaphor.  Pharaoh  was  laying 
intolerable  burdens  upon  the  people — what  were  they  to  do? 
God  had  once  sent  Moses,  a  man  of  prayer,  to  plead  with 
Pharaoh  to  loosen  his  hand — would  He  not  do  so  again? 

But  as  the  people's  sufferings  increased,  the  metaphors 
were  dropped  and  the  injustices  they  laboured  under  were 
stated  in  plain  terms.  Hitherto,  when  a  summons  had  been 
taken  out  against  a  man  for  the  nonpayment  of  his  taxes, 
the  magistrate  might  remit  or  cancel  or  postpone,  but  now 
there  was  nothing  but  summary  execution  everywhere,  with 
the  result  that  stock  and  crops  were  being  sold  up  by  the 
police,  and  neither  the  Mudirs   (the  Governors)   nor  their 


282  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

sarrafs  (cashiers)  cared  what  price  was  realised  so  long  as 
the  amount  of  the  taxes  was  met. 

"  Is  there  no  redress,  no  remedy,  no  appeal  ?  What  are 
we  to  do  ?  "  asked  the  people  in  the  messages  that  came  in 
the  turbans. 

"  Be  patient !  "  replied  Ishmael.  "  It  is  written,  '  God 
is  with  the  patient.' " 

A  hundred  times  Helena  wrote  this  answer,  at  Ishmael's 
dictation,  on  pieces  of  paper  hardly  bigger  than  a  large  post- 
age stamp,  and  it  was  hidden  away  in  some  secret  place  in 
the  messenger's  clothes. 

As  time  went  on  the  messages  became  more  urgent  and 
painful.  The  law  said  that  at  times  of  distraint  the  clothes 
of  the  debtor,  his  implements  of  cultivation,  and  the  cattle 
he  employed  in  agriculture  were  to  be  exempt  from  seizure, 
but  the  district  officers  were  seizing  everything  by  which  the 
people  worked,  and  yet  requiring  them  to  pay  taxes  just 
the  same. 

"  What  are  we  to  say  ? "  asked  the  messengers. 

"  Say  nothing,"  answered  Ishmael.  "  Suifer  and  be  strong. 
Not  for  the  first  time  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile  have  people 
been  required  to  make  bricks  without  straw.  But  God  will 
avenge  you.    Wait !  " 

This  message,  also,  Helena  wrote  a  hundred  times,  wish- 
ing it  had  been  more  explicit,  but  Ishmael  committed  his 
signature  to  no  compromising  statement,  no  evidence  of  con- 
spiracy, and  that  deepened  Helena's  conviction  of  his  cun- 
ning and  duplicity. 

The  intensity  of  her  feeling  against  Ishmael  did  not  abate 
by  coming  to  close  quarters.  Day  by  day,  as  she  sat  in  the 
guest-room,  she  poisoned  her  mind  and  hardened  her  heart 
against  him.  She  even  found  herself  taking  the  side  of  his 
people  in  the  sufferings  he  continued  to  impose  upon  them. 
She  was  sure,  too,  that  in  addition  to  his  plan  of  passive 
resistance  he  had  some  active  scheme  of  vengeance  against 
the  Government.     What  was  it?     She  must  wait  and  see. 

After  a  while  letters  began  to  arrive  from  Cairo.  They 
were  from  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar  and  contained  the 
messages  of  the  Ulema. 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WOULD  283 

The  Ulema  had  appealed  to  the  representatives  of  the 
Powers,  who  had  answered  them  that  they  could  do  nothii.g 
unless  it  became  clear  to  all  the  world  that  the  action  (;f 
England  was  imperilling  the  peace  of  Egypt,  and  thereby 
the  lives  of  the  Europeans.    What  were  they  to  say? 

"  Fools !  "  cried  Ishmael.  "  Don't  you  see  that  they  want 
you  to  rebel?  Grasp  every  hand  that  is  held  out  to  you  in 
good-will,  but  fly  from  the  finger  that  would  point  you  into 
the  fire." 

Helena  thought  she  saw  light  at  last.  Having  expelled 
England  from  Egypt  by  making  it  impossible  for  her  to 
govern  the  country,  Ishmael  intended  to  establish,  like  the 
Mahdi,  an  entirely  worldly  and  temporal  power,  with  him- 
self at  the  head  of  it. 

The  second  letter  from  the  Ulema  at  Cairo  contained  a 
still  more  serious  message.  Having  met  and  concluded  that 
the  action  of  the  Government  justified  the  proclamation  of 
a  Jehad,  a  holy  war,  on  the  just  ground  that  the  unbelievers 
were  trying  to  expel  them  from  their  country,  they  had  sol- 
emnly sworn  on  the  Koran  to  turn  England  out  of  Egj-pt 
or  die  in  the  attempt. 

To  this  letter  Ishmael  sent  an  instant  answer,  saying: 

"No!  What  will  it  profit  you  to  turn  England  out  of 
Egypt  while  she  holds  the  Soudan  and  the  sources  of  the 
Nile?  Oh,  blind  and  weak!  If  you  have  forgotten  your 
souls,  have  you  no  thoughts  for  your  stomachs  ?  " 

Then  came  further  letters  from  the  Chancellor  of  El 
Azhar,  saying  that  the  fellaheen  were  being  evicted  from 
their  houses  and  lands,  and  that  their  sufferings  were  now  so 
dire  that  no  counsels  could  keep  them  from  revolt.  Even  the 
young  women  were  calling  upon  the  young  men  to  fight,  say- 
ing they  were  not  half  the  men  their  fathers  had  been,  or  they 
would  conquer  or  die  for  the  homes  that  were  being  taken 
from  them  and  for  the  religion  of  God  and  his  prophet. 

To  this  message  also  Ishmael  returned  a  determined 
answer. 

"  War  is  mutual  deceit,"  he  said.  "  Avoid  it !  Fly  from 
it!  I  will  countenance  no  warfare!  That  is  my  unalter- 
able mind !     Hear  it,  for  God's  sake !  " 


284  THE    WHITE    PKOPHET 

But  hardly  had  Ishmael's  answer  gone  from  Khartoum 
when  messengers  began  to  arrive  from  all  parts  of  Egypt, 
saying  that  the  fellaheen  had  already  risen  in  various  places 
and  that  battalions  of  the  British  Army  had  been  sent  out 
to  suppress  them;  that  the  people  had  been  put  down  with 
loss  of  life  and  suffering,  and  that  many  were  now  trooping 
into  the  cities,  homeless  and  hopeless,  and  crying  in  their 
despair,  "  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? " 

It  was  a  black  day  in  Khartoum  when  this  news  came, 
for  among  Ishmael's  immediate  following  there  were  not  a 
few  who  had  lost  members  of  their  own  families.  Some  of 
these,  that  night  when  all  was  still,  went  out  into  the  desert, 
far  away  from  the  tents,  and  sang  a  solemn  dirge  for  the 
dead.  It  was  a  melancholy  sight  in  that  lonesome  place,  for 
they  were  chiefly  women,  and  their  voices  under  the  deep- 
blue  sky  with  its  stars  made  a  most  touching  lamentation, 
like  that  of  the  sobbing  of  the  sea. 

Helena  heard  it,  and,  with  her  heart  still  poisoned  against 
Ishmael,  it  made  her  yet  more  bitter  against  him,  as  against 
one  who  for  his  owm  ends  was  holding  the  poor,  weak  peo- 
ple under  their  cruel  fate  by  the  spell  of  superstitious  hopes 
and  fears. 

Knowing  the  Moslem  ethics  of  warfare,  that  it  is  only 
wicked  when  it  is  likely  to  fail,  she  convinced  herself  that 
Ishmael  was  merely  biding  his  time  for  the  execution  of 
some  violent  scheme,  and  remembering  his  own  secret  (the 
secret  of  the  crime  he  thought  he  had  hidden  from  every- 
body), the  idea  took  possession  of  her  that  he  was  laying 
some  personal  plot  against  the  Consul-General. 

One  day  a  lanky  fellow,  with  a  short-cut  Moslem  beard, 
arrived  by  train,  and,  after  the  usual  Arabic  salutations, 
produced  a  letter.     It  ran : 

"  The  bearer  of  this  is  Abdel  Kader,  and  he  is  our  envoy 
to  you  with  a  solemn  message  which  is  too  secret  to  com- 
mit to  paper.  Trust  him.  He  is  honest  and  his  word  is 
true.  Your  friends,  who  wait  for  you  in  Cairo  with  out- 
stretched arms " 

And  then  followed  the  names  not  only  of  many  of  the 
Ulema  of  Cairo,  but  of  most  of  the  Notables  as  well. 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  285 

Abdel  Kader  proved  to  be  a  sort  of  Arab  Don  Quixote, 
full  of  fine  language  and  grand  sentiments.  Much  of  this 
he  expended  upon  Ishmael  in  the  secrecy  of  the  carefully 
guarded  guest-room  before  he  came  to  the  substance  of  his 
message,  which  was  to  say  that  as  a  great  doctor  of  Moslem 
law,  Gamal-ed-Deen,  had  upheld  assassination  itself  as  a  last 
means  of  righting  the  wrongs  of  the  people,  the  leaders  had 
reluctantly  concluded  that  the  English  lord  (Lord  ISTune- 
ham)  must  be  removed  in  order  that  his  heavy  foot  might 
be  lifted  from  the  necks  of  the  oppressed.  To  this  end  they 
had  decided  that  he  should  be  assassinated  some  day  as  he 
passed  in  his  carriage  on  his  afternoon  drive  over  the  Kasr 
el  Xil  bridge,  but  lacking  a  person  capable  of  taking  the 
lead  in  such  an  affair,  they  appealed  to  Ishmael  to  return 
to  Cairo  for  this  purpose. 

Having  discharged  himself  of  the  burden  of  his  message, 
the  Arab  Don  Quixote  was  proceeding  with  many  large 
words  that  were  intended  to  show  how  safely  this  act  of 
righteous  vengeance  might  be  executed  by  one  whom  the 
law  dare  not  touch  for  fear  of  the  people,  when  Ishmael, 
who  had  listened  breathlessly,  burst  out  on  him  and  cried : 

"  No,  no,  I  tell  you,  no !  Return  to  them  that  sent  you, 
and  say,  '  Ishmael  Ameer  is  no  murderer.'  Say,  too,  that 
the  world  has  no  use  for  patriots  who  would  right  the  people 
by  putting  them  in  the  wrong.     Away  with  you !     Away !  " 

At  that  he  rose  up  and  went  out  of  the  guest-room  with  a 
flaming  face,  leaving  the  envoy  to  strike  his  forehead  and 
to  curse  the  daj'  that  had  brought  him. 

Helena,  who  alone,  save  old  Mahmud,  had  been  present 
at  this  interview,  found  herself  utterly  shaken  at  the  end 
of  it  by  a  storm  of  conflicting  feelings,  and  from  that  time 
forward  her  heart  was  constantly  being  surprised  by  emo- 
tions which  she  had  hitherto  struggled  to  suppress. 

Day  by  day,  as  messengers  came  thronging  into  Khar- 
toum with  sadder  and  yet  sadder  stories  of  the  people's  suf- 
ferings— how,  living  under  the  shadow  of  the  sword,  impov- 
erished by  the  law  and  by  the  cruel  injustice  of  the  native 
ofiicers,  the  Omdehs  and  the  sarrafs,  sold  up  and  evicted 
from   their  homes,    they  were   tramping   the   deserts,   men, 


286  THE    \Y1I1TE    rKOrilET 

women,  and  children,  hungry  and  naked  and  with  nothing 
of  their  own  except  the  sand  and  the  sky — Helena  saw  that 
Ishmael's  face  grew  paler  and  paler,  as  if  his  sleep  had  left 
him,  and  under  the  burden  of  his  responsibility  for  what 
had  befallen  the  country  as  the  consequence  of  its  obedience 
to  his  will,  his  heart  was  bleeding  and  his  life  ebbing  away. 

"  Master,  is  there  no  help  for  us  ?  "  the  messengers  would 
ask,  with  tears  in  their  half-witted  eyes.  "  You  are  our 
father,  we  are  your  children — what  are  we  to  do?  We  are 
sheep  without  a  shepherd — will  you  not  lead  us  ?  " 

To  all  such  pleading  Ishmael  would  show  a  brave  face 
and  say: 

"  Not  yet !  Wait !  The  clouds  that  darken  your  sky 
will  lift.  Be  patient!  The  arm  of  our  God  is  long!  Never 
despair!  Allah  feeds  the  worm  that  lies  between  the  stones. 
Will  He  not  feed  you  also  ?  Yet  better  your  bodies  should 
starve  than  your  souls  should  perish !  Hold  fast  to  the 
faith !  Your  children  and  your  children's  children  will  bless 
you!" 

But  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  his  comforting  his  voice 
would  fail,  and,  like  Joseph,  whose  bowels  yearned  over  his 
brethren,  he  would  stop  suddenly  and  hasten  away  to  his 
room,  lest  he  should  break  down  altogether. 

Helena  saw  all  this,  and  it  was  as  much  as  she  could  do 
to  withstand  it,  when  one  night  she  was  awakened  in  the 
small  hours  by  Mosie,  who  was  whispering  through  the  door 
of  her  bedroom: 

"  Lady,  lady.  Master  sick ;  come  to  him." 

Then  she  walked  across  to  the  men's  side  of  the  house 
and  heard  Ishmael,  in  his  own  room,  calling  God  to  forgive 
him,  and  crying  like  a  child. 

At  that  moment,  in  spite  of  herself,  Helena  felt  a  wave 
of  pity  take  possession  of  her,  but  at  the  next,  being  back  in 
her  bedroom,  she  remembered  her  own  secret,  and  asked  her- 
self again : 

"  What  pity  had  he  for  me  when  he  hilled  my  father?  " 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  287 


VII 

Down  to  this  time  Ishmael's  conduct  had  been  marked 
by  the  most  determined  common  sense;  but  now  came  an 
incident  that  seemed  to  change  the  trend  of  his  mind  and 
character. 

One  day  a  man  of  the  Jaalin  tribe  arrived  with  a  letter 
in  the  sole  of  his  sandal. 

"  God  give  you  greeting,  Master,"  he  said  in  his  West- 
country  dialect  and  a  tone  that  seemed  to  foretell  trouble. 

With  trembling  fingers  Ishmael  tore  open  the  letter  and 
read  that  to  drown  the  cries  of  distress  and  to  throw  dust 
in  the  eyes  of  Europe  (for  so  the  Ulema  understood  the 
otherwise  mysterious  object,  the  Consul-General  was  organ- 
ising a  general  festival  of  rejoicing  to  celebrate  the  th 

anniversary  of  the  British  occupation  of  Egypt. 

At  this  news  Ishmael  was  overwhelmed.  Helena  saw  his 
lips  quiver  and  his  cheeks  grow  pale  as  he  held  the  crinkling 
paper  in  his  trembling  hands.  In  the  absence  of  other  ex- 
planation the  cold-blooded  cruelty  of  the  scheme  seemed  to 
be  almost  devilish. 

That  day  he  disappeared,  escaping  from  the  importuni- 
ties of  his  people  into  the  desert.  lie  did  not  return  at 
night,  and  at  sunrise  next  morning  Black  Zogal  went  in 
search  of  him.  But  the  ISTubian  returned  without  him.  tell- 
ing some  Avild  supernatural  tale  of  having  come  upon  the 
master  in  the  midst  of  an  angelic  company.  His  face  was 
shining  with  a  celestial  radiance,  so  that  at  first  he  could 
not  look  upon  him.  And  when  at  length  he  was  able  to  lift 
his  eyes,  the  master,  who  was  alone,  sent  him  back,  saying 
he  was  to  tell  no  man  what  he  had  seen. 

Four  days  afterward  Ishmael  returned  to  Ivhartoum,  and 
there  was  enough  in  his  face  to  explain  Black  Zogal's  story. 
His  eyes,  which  seemed  to  stare,  had  a  look  of  unearthly 
joy.  This  was  like  flame  to  the  fuel  of  his  people's  delirium, 
for  they  did  not  see  that,  under  the  torment  of  his  private 
sufferings,  the  dauntless  courage  and  hope  of  the  man  had 
begun  to  turn  toward  madness. 


288  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

He  began  to  preach  in  the  mosque  a  wild,  new  message. 
The  time  of  the  end  had  come!  Famine  and  pestilence, 
poverty  and  godless  luxury,  war  and  misery — were  not  these 
the  signs  foretold  of  the  coming  of  the  latter  day? 

Lo,  the  cup  of  the  people's  sufferings  was  full !  Behold, 
while  the  children  of  Allah  wept,  men  feasted  and  women 
danced !  Kever  since  the  black  night  when  the  first-born  of 
Egypt  were  slain  had  Egypt  been  so  mocked !  Egypt,  the 
great,  the  ancient,  the  cradle  of  humanity — what  was  she 
now  but  a  playground  for  the  idle  wealthy  of  the  world? 

"  But,  no  matter!  "  he  cried.  "  The  world  travaileth  and 
groaneth  like  a  woman  in  labour;  but  as  a  woman  forgets 
her  pains  when  the  hope  of  her  heart  is  born,  so  shall  the 
children  of  God  forget  Pharaoh  and  his  feastings  when  the 
Expected  One  is  come.  He  is  coming  now,  the.  Living,  the 
Deliverer,  the  Redeemer !  Wait !  Watch !  The  time  is 
near ! " 

The  new  message  flashed  like  fire  through  Ishmael's  fol- 
lowers. Every  eventide  for  thirteen  centuries  the  prayer 
had  gone  up  to  heaven  in  Islam  for  the  advent  of  the 
divinely  appointed  guide  who  was  to  redeem  the  world  from 
sorrow  and  sin,  to  deliver  believers  from  the  hated  bondage 
of  the  foreigner,  and  to  re-establish  the  universal  Caliphate; 
and  now,  in  the  utmost  depths  of  their  oppression  and  suf- 
fering, when  hope  had  all  but  died  out  of  their  hearts,  the 
true  Mahdi,  the  Messiah,  the  Christ  was  about  to  come! 

The  people  were  beside  themselves  with  .ioy.  They  were 
like  children  of  the  desert  who,  after  a  long  drought  in  which 
their  wells  have  been  dried  up,  run  about  in  glee  when  the 
first  drops  of  rain  begin  to  fall.  They  were  ready  for  any 
task,  any  enterprise,  and  Ishmael,  who  began  to  make  plans 
for  going  back  to  Cairo  (for  it  was  there,  according  to  his 
view,  that  the  Expected  One  was  to  appear),  sent  them  with 
letters  to  all  corners  of  the  country,  telling  his  messengers 
to  return  home. 

Helena  wrote  these  letters  with  a  trembling  hand.  In 
spite  of  her  secret  errand  she  was  surprised  by  a  certain  sym- 
pathy. The  great  hope,  the  great  dream  touched  her  pity 
and  gave  her  at  the  beginning  some  moments  of  compunc- 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  289 

tiou.  But  after  a  while  she  began  to  see  it  as  a  wicked 
madness,  and  that  enabled  her  to  steel  her  heart  against 
Ishmael  again. 

The  man  who  held  out  such  crazy  hopes  to  a  credulous 
people  might  be  harmless  in  England,  but  in  Egypt  he  was 
a  peril.  Once  let  an  ignorant  and  superstitious  populace 
believe  that  the  end  of  the  world  was  coming,  that  a  Messiah 
was  about  to  appear,  and  human  government  was  a  dead 
letter.  What  then?  Revolution  and  bloodshed,  for  the  first 
duty  of  a  government  was  to  preserve  law  and  order ! 

Helena  asked  herself  if  the  time  had  not  come  at  last  to 
write  to  the  Consul-General,  or  perhaps  to  steal  away  from 
Khartoum  and  return  to  Cairo  that  she  might  report  what 
she  had  seen  and  learned. 

After  reflection  she  concluded  that  the  only  result  of 
doing  so  would  be  that  of  punishing  yet  further  the  poor, 
misguided  people  who  had  been  punished  enough  already. 
It  was  Ishmael  alone  who  ought  to  suffer,  whether  for  his 
oflFences  against  his  followers,  his  conspiracy  against  the  Gov- 
ernment, or  his  crime  against  herself,  and  in  order  to  punish 
him  apart  she  would  have  to  separate  him  from  his  people. 

How  was  she  to  do  this?  It  seemed  impossible;  but  fate 
itself  assisted  her. 

A  few  days  after  Abdel  Kader  had  gone  off  in  his  hu- 
miliation the  shadow  of  his  lanky  body  appeared  across  the 
threshold  of  the  guest-room,  where  Ishmael  was  sitting  with 
no  other  company  than  old  Mahmud  and  Helena,  who  was 
writing  the  usual  letters  while  little  Mosie  fanned  her  to 
drive  off  the  flies. 

"  The  peace  of  God  be  with  you,  Master,"  he  said  in  a 
low  and  humble  voice,  and  then,  with  a  shy  look  of  triumph, 
he  produced  a  letter  which  had  been  given  to  him  at  Haifa. 

The  letter  was  from  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar.  and  it 
told  Ishmael,  after  the  usual  Arabic  salutations,  that  the 
festival  of  which  he  had  already  been  informed  was  to  take 
place  on  the  Ghezirah  (the  island  in  front  of  Cairo)  ;  that  the 
rejoicings  were  to  begin  on  the  anniversary  of  the  birthday  of 
the  English  King,  something  more  than  a  month  hence; 
that  the  British  soldiers  would  still  be  in  the  provinces  at 


290  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

that  time,  quelling  disturbances  and  helping  the  district 
officers  to  enforce  the  payment  of  taxes,  and  that,  as  a  con- 
sequence, the  Egyptian  Army  alone  would  be  left  in  charge 
of  the  city. 

"  The  Egyptian  soldiers  are  Moslems,  oh,  my  brother — 
the  brothers  and  sons  of  our  poor  afflicted  children  of  Allah. 
It  needs  only  the  right  word  from  the  right  man,  and  they 
will  throw  down  their  arms  at  the  city  gates  and  the  army 
of  God  may  enter." 

Ishmael  read  the  letter  aloud  in  his  throbbing  voice,  and 
his  face  began  to  shine  with  ecstasy.  In  an  instant  a  wild 
scheme  took  shape  in  his  mind. 

He  would  announce  a  pilgrimage!  With  ten  thousand, 
twenty  thousand,  fifty  thousand  of  his  followers  he  would 
return  to  Cairo  to  meet  and  greet  the  Expected  One!  The 
native  army  would  not  resist  their  co-religionists,  and  once 
within  the  city,  the  struggle  would  be  at  an  end!  In  a  single 
hour  his  fifty  thousand  would  be  five  hundred  thousand !  The 
Government  would  not  turn  them  out ;  it  dare  not  make 
war  upon  them;  the  whole  world  would  cry  out  against  a 
general  massacre,  and  God  Himself  would  not  permit  it  to 
occur. 

But  somebody  must  go  into  Cairo  in  advance  to  prepare 
the  way — to  make  sure  there  should  be  no  bloodshed.  Some 
trusty  messenger,  some  sei-vant  of  the  Most  High,  who  could 
kindle  the  souls  of  the  Egyptian  soldiers  to  such  a  blazing 
flame  of  love  that  not  all  the  perils  of  death  could  make 
them  take  up  arms  against  the  children  of  God  when  they 
came  to  their  gates! 

While  Ishmael  propounded  this  scheme,  with  gathering 
excitement  and  a  look  of  frenzy,  Helena  sat  trembling  from 
head  to  foot  and  clutching  with  nervous  fingers  the  reed 
pen  she  held  in  her  hand,  for  she  knew  that  her  hour  had 
struck  at  last — the  hour  she  had  waited  and  watched  for, 
the  hour  she  had  come  to  Khartoum  to  meet.  She  held  her 
breath  and  gazed  intently  into  Ishmael's  quivering  face  as 
long  as  he  continued  to  speak,  and  then,  in  a  voice  which 
bhe  could  scarcely  recognise  as  her  own,  she  said : 

"  But  the  messenger  who  goes  in  advance  into  Cairo — 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  291 

he  must  be  one  whose  wisdom  as  well  as  courage  you  can 
trust." 

"  True,  true,  most  true,"  said  Ishmael,  speaking  eagerly 
and  rapidly. 

"  Some  one  whose  word  will  carry  influence  with  the 
Egyptian  army." 

"  Please  God,  it  shall  be  so,"  said  Ishmael. 

"  If  the  soldiers  are  native  and  Moslem,  the  ofiicers  are 
British  and  Christian,  therefore  the  risks  they  run  are 
great." 

"  Great,  very  great ;  but  God  will  protect  them." 

"  To  disobey  may  be  to  suffer  imprisonment,  perhaps  dis- 
charge, possibly  death." 

"  I  know !  I  know !  But  God  will  bring  them  to  a 
happy  end." 

"  Therefore,"  said  Helena,  whose  nervousness  was  gath- 
ering feverish  strength,  "  the  messenger  who  goes  into  Cairo 
in  advance  must  be  one  who  can  make  them  forget  the  dan- 
gers of  death  itself." 

Ishmael  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then,  in  a  burst  of 
eagerness,  he  said: 

"The  counsel  is  good.     I  will  go  myself T^ 

Helena's  flushed  face  looked  triumphant.  "  The  man  of 
all  men,"  she  said.  "  What  messenger  from  Ishmael  could 
be  so  sure  as  Ishmael  himself  ? " 

"  Yes,  please  God,  I  will  go  myself,"  said  Ishmael  in  a 
louder  voice,  and  he  began  to  laugh — it  was  the  first  laugh 
that  had  broken  from  his  lips  since  Helena  came  to  Khar- 
toum.    Then  he  paused  and  said : 

"But  the  people?" 

"  Anybody  can  follow  with  them,"  said  Helena.  "  Their 
loyalty  is  certain;  they  need  no  persuading." 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Ishmael,  "  for  above  all  there  must  be  no 
bloodshed." 

Then  old  Mahmud,  who  alone  of  the  persons  present  in 
the  guest-room  seemed  to  be  untouched  by  the  excitement 
of  the  moment,  turned  to  Helena  and  said : 

"  But  is  Ishmael  the  only  one  for  this  enterprise,  my 
daughter? " 


292  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  He  knows  eveiy  one  and  every  one  knows  him,"  said 
Helena. 

"  But  he  who  knows  everybody,  everybody  knows,"  the 
old  man  answered ;  "  not  the  soldiers  merely,  but  their  mas- 
ters also." 

At  that  Helena's  nervousness  gathered  itself  up  into  a 
trill  of  unnatural  laughter,  and  she  said:  "Nonsense!  He 
can  be  disguised.  The  kufiah  "  (head-dress)  "  of  a  Bedouin, 
covering  his  head  and  nearly  all  his  face — what  more  is 
wanted?" 

"  So  you  are  not  afraid  for  him,  my  daughter  ? " 

"Afraid?  I  will  make  the  kufiah  myself,  and  with  my 
own  hands  I  will  put  it  on." 

"  Brave  heart  of  woman !  "  cried  Ishmael.  "  Stronger 
than  the  soul  of  man !     It  is  my  duty  and  I  will  do  it !  " 

With  that  he  turned  to  Abdel  Kader,  who  had  looked  on 
with  his  staring  eyes,  and  said: 

"  Go  back  to  Cairo  by  the  first  train,  and  say,  '  It  is 
well — God  willing,  he  will  come.' "  And  then,  in  the  fever 
of  his  new  purpose,  he  went  off  to  the  mosque. 

There  he  first  called  upon  the  people  to  repeat  the  She- 
hada,  the  Moslem  creed,  and  after  that  he  administered  an 
oath  to  them — never,  by  the  grace  of  God  and  His  Prophet, 
to  reveal  what  he  was  going  to  say  except  to  true  believers, 
and  only  to  them  on  their  taking  a  like  oath  of  secrecy  and 
fidelity. 

The  people  repeated  in  chorus  the  words  he  spoke  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  concluded — each  man  with  his  right  hand 
on  the  Koran  and  his  left  upraised  to  heaven — with  a  sol- 
emn "  Amen !  " 

Then  Ishmael  told  them  everything — how  the  time  had 
come  for  their  deliverance  from  bondage  and  corruption  to 
the  glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of  God ;  how,  as  the  peo- 
ple of  the  Prophet  had  returned  from  Medina  to  Mecca,  so 
they  were  to  go  up  from  Khartoum  to  Cairo;  how  he  was 
to  go  before  them,  and  they,  under  another  leader,  were  to 
follow  him,  and  God  would  give  them  a  great  reward. 

At  this  news  the  poor,  unlettered  people  grew  delirious 
in  their  excitement,  each  man  interpreting  Ishmael's  mes- 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  293 

sage  according  to  his  own  vision  of  the  millennium.  Some 
saw  themselves  turning  the  hated  foreigner  out  of  Egypt ; 
others  were  already  in  imagination  taking  possession  of 
Cairo  and  all  the  rich  lands  of  the  valley  of  the  Nile;  while 
a  few,  like  Ishmael  himself,  were  happy  enough  in  the  expec- 
tation of  prostrating  themselves  at  the  feet  of  the  divinely 
appointed  guide  who  was  to  redeem  the  world  from  sorrow 
and  sin. 

As  soon  as  prayers  were  over  Black  Zogal  ran  back  to 
old  Mahmud's  house  with  a  wild  story  of  flashes  of  light 
which  he  saw  darting  from  Ishmael's  head  while  he  spoke 
from  the  pulpit. 

Helena  heard  him.  She  was  sitting  alone  in  the  guest- 
room, tortured  by  conflicting  thoughts.  "  Am  I  a  wicked 
woman  ?  "  she  asked  herself,  remembering  how  easily  she  had 
taken  advantage  of  Ishmael's  fanatical  ecstasy.  But  then 
she  hardened  her  heart  against  Ishmael  again,  telling  her- 
self that  his  simplicity  was  cunning  and  that  he  was  an 
impostor  who  had  gone  so  far  with  his  imposture  that  he 
could  even  impose  upon  himself. 

How  could  one  who  had  committed  a  crime,  a  cruel  and 
cowardly  crime,  be  anything  but  a  villain  ?  A  madman,  per- 
haps, but  all  the  same  a  villain ! 

And  then  other  thoughts  thronged  upon  her,  sweet  and 
bitter  thoughts,  with  memories  of  Gordon,  of  her  father,  of 
the  early  days  in  Grasmere,  of  the  short  morning  of  happi- 
ness in  Cairo,  and  of  the  brief  lift  in  the  clouds  of  her  life 
that  was  now  plunged  in  perpetual  night. 

Thus  she  stifled  every  qualm  of  conscience  by  going  back 
and  back  to  the  same  plea,  the  same  support : 

"After  all,  he  killed  my  father!" 


VIII 

In  a  village  outside  blind-walled,  dead  Metimmeh,  with 

its  blank  and  empty  hovels,  emblems  of  Mahdist  massacres, 

two  travellers  were  encamped.     One  of  them  was  what  the 

quick-eyed  natives  called  a  "white  Egyptian,"  but  he  was 

20 


294  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

dressed  as  a  Bedouin  Sheikh;  the  other  was  his  servant. 
They  were  travelling  south,  and  having  been  long  on  their 
journey,  their  camels  had  begun  to  fail  them.  A  she  camel, 
ridden  by  the  Bedouin,  was  suffering  in  one  of  its  feet,  and 
the  men  were  resting  while  a  doctor  dressed  it. 

Meantime  the  villages  were  feeding  them  with  the  best 
of  their  native  bread  and  making  a  fantasia  for  their  enter- 
tainment. The  night  was  a  little  cold,  and  the  people  had 
built  a  fire,  before  which  the  travellers  were  sitting  with 
the  Sheikh  of  the  village  by  their  side. 

In  a  broad  half-circle  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire  a 
group  of  blue-shirted  Arabs  were  squatting  on  the  sand.  A 
singer  was  warbling  love-songs  in  a  throbbing  voice,  a  num- 
ber of  his  comrades  were  beating  time  on  the  ground  with 
sticks,  and  a  swaggering  girl,  who  glittered  with  gold  coins 
in  her  hair  and  on  her  hips,  was  dancing  in  the  space  be- 
tween. On  their  nut-brown  faces  was  the  flickering  red 
light  of  the  fire  and  over  their  heads  was  the  great,  wide, 
tranquil  whiteness  of  the  moon. 

In  the  midst  of  their  fantasia  they  heard  the  hollow  thud 
of  a  camel's  tread,  and  presently  a  stranger  arrived,  a  lanky 
fellow,  with  wild  eyes  and  a  North-country  accent.  The 
Sheikh  saluted  him,  and  he  made  his  camel  kneel  and  got 
down  to  rest  and  to  cat. 

"  The  peace  of  God  be  with  you !  " 

"  And  with  you !  What  is  your  name  ? "  asked  the 
Sheikh. 

"  They  call  me  Abdcl  Kader,  and  I  am  riding  all  night 
to  catch  the  train  from  Atbara  in  the  morning." 

"  It  must  be  great  news  you  carry  in  such  haste,  O 
brother! " 

"  The  greatest !  When  the  sun  rises  above  the  horizon 
we  see  no  more  the  stars." 

It  was  obvious  enough,  through  all  his  fine  language, 
that  the  stranger  was  eager  to  tell  his  story,  and  after  call- 
ing for  an  oath  of  secrecy  and  fidelity  he  told  it  to  the 
Sheikh  and  the  Bedouin  in  bated  breath. 

The  time  of  the  end  had  come!  A  pilgrimage  had  been 
proclaimed !    Ishmael  Ameer  was  to  go  up  to  Cairo  secretly. 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  295 

and  his  people  were  to  follow  him ;  the  Egyptian  Army  were 
to  help  them  to  enter  the  city,  the  hated  foreigner  was  to 
be  flung  out  of  the  country,  and  Egypt  was  to  be  God's ! 

The  Sheikh  of  the  village  was  completely  carried  away 
by  the  stranger's  news,  but  the  Bedouin  listened  to  it  with 
unconcealed  alarm. 

"Is  this  the  plan  of  Ishmael  Ameer?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is,"  said  the  stranger;  "  and  God  bring  it  to  a  happy 
end." 

"  Did  anybody  put  it  into  his  head?  "  asked  the  Bedouin. 

"Yes,  a  woman,  his  wife,  and  God  bless  and  reward 
her!" 

"  His  wife,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Wallahi ! "'  said  the  stranger ;  and  then,  with  many  fine 
sentiments  and  much  flowery  speech,  he  told  of  the  lady, 
the  White  Lady,  the  Kani,  the  Princess,  who  had  lately 
been  married  to  Ishmael  Ameer  and  had  now  so  much  power 
over  him. 

"  What  says  the  old  saw  ?  "  said  the  stranger.  "  '  He  who 
eats  honey  risks  the  sting  of  bees,'  but  no  danger  in  this 
case." 

And  then  followed  more  fine  sentiments  on  the  sweet- 
ness and  wisdom  of  woman  in  general  and  of  the  Rani  in 
particular. 

"  Well,  he  who  lives  long  sees  much,"  said  the  Bedouin, 
with  increasing  uneasiness ;  and  turning  to  the  Sheikh,  he 
asked  if  he  might  have  the  loan  of  a  fresh  camel  in  the 
place  of  the  one  that  was  disabled. 

"  Certainly ;  but  my  brother  is  not  leaving  me  to-night  ?  " 
asked  the  Sheikh. 

"  I  must,"  said  the  Bedouin. 

"  But  the  night  is  with  us,"  said  the  Sheikh. 

"  And  so  is  the  moon,  and  the  tracks  are  clear,"  said  the 
Bedouin.  "  But  one  thing  you  can  do  for  me,  O  Sheikh — 
send  a  letter  into  Khartoum  by  the  train  that  goes  up  from 
Metimmeh  in  the  morning." 

That  was  agreed  to,  and  then,  by  the  light  of  a  large 
tin  lamp  which  his  servant  held  before  him  as  he  sat  on 
the  sand,  the  Bedouin  wrote  a  hurried  message  to  Ishmael 


296  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Ameer,  saying  who  he  was  and  why  he  was  making  his  jour- 
ney, and  asking  that  nothing  should  be  done  until  they  came 
together. 

By  this  time  the  fantasia  was  over,  the  fire  had  died 
down,  the  camels  had  been  brought  up,  the  flowery  stranger 
had  started  afresh  on  his  northward  way,  and  the  Sheikh 
and  his  people  were  standing  ready  to  say  farewell  to  the 
two  travellers,  who  were  facing  south. 

"  God  take  you  safely  to  your  journey's  end,  O  brother!  " 
said  the  Sheikh.  Then  with  a  grunt  the  camels  knelt  and 
rose,  and  at  the  next  moment,  amid  a  chorus  of  pious  ejacu- 
lations, into  the  glistening  moon  track  across  the  sand  the 
Bedouin  and  his  man  disappeared. 

The  Bedouin  was  Gordon.  He  was  thinner  and  more 
bronzed,  yet  not  less  well  than  when  he  left  Cairo,  for  he 
had  the  strength  of  a  soldier  inured  to  hardship.  But 
Osman,  his  servant  and  guide,  having  lived  all  his  life  in 
the  schoolroom  and  the  library,  had  dwindled  away  like  their 
camels,  which  were  utterly  debilitated  and  had  lost  their 
humps. 

Their  journey  had  been  long,  for  they  had  missed  their 
way,  being  sometimes  carried  off  by  mirages  and  sometimes 
impeded  by  mountain  ranges  that  rose  sheer  and  sharp  across 
their  course.  And  often  in  the  face  of  such  obstacles,  with 
his  companion  and  his  camels  failing  before  his  eyes,  Gor- 
don's own  spirit  had  also  failed,  and  he  had  asked  himself 
why,  since  he  knew  of  no  use  that  heaven  could  have  for 
him  there,  he  continued  to  trudge  along  through  this  bare 
and  barren  wilderness. 

But  doubt  and  uncertainty  were  now  gone.  He  was  in 
a  fever  of  impatience  to  reach  Khartoum  that  he  might  put 
an  end  to  Ishmael's  scheme.  That  scheme  was  madness,  and 
it  could  only  end  in  disaster.  Carried  into  execution  it 
would  be  another  Arab  insurrection,  and  would  lead  to  like 
failure  and  as  much  bloodshed. 

The  Englishman  and  the  British  soldier  in  Gordon,  no 
less  than  the  friend  of  the  Egyptian  people,  rebelled  against 
Ishmael's  plot.  Tt  was  political  mutiny  against  England, 
which  Ishmael  in  Cairo  had  protested  was  no  part  of  his 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  297 

spiritual  plan.  What  influence  had  since  played  upon  him 
to  make  him  change  the  object  of  his  mission?  Who  was 
this  white  woman,  this  Kani,  this  princess  who  had  put  an 
evil  motive  into  his  mind?  Was  she  acting  in  the  folly  of 
good  faith,  or  was  she  deceiving  and  betraying  him?  His 
wife,  too!    What  could  it  mean? 

In  Gordon's  impatience  only  one  thing  was  clear  to  him 
■ — that  for  England's  sake,  and  for  Egypt's  also,  he  must 
reach  Khartoum  without  delay.  He  must  show  Ishmael  how 
impossible  was  his  scheme,  how  dangerous,  how  deadly,  how 
certain  to  lead  to  his  own  detection  and  perhaps  death. 

"  We  are  thirty  hours  from  Omdurman — can  we  do  it  in 
a  day  and  a  night,  Osman  ? "  he  said,  as  soon  as  the  camels 
swung  away. 

"  God  willing,  we  will,"  said  OsAian,  in  a  voice  that  be- 
trayed at  once  his  weakness  and  his  devotion. 

They  rode  all  night,  first  in  the  breathless  moonlight 
with  its  silvery  shimmering  haze,  then  in  a  strong  wind 
that  made  the  clouds  sail  before  the  stars  and  the  camels 
beneath  them  feel  like  ships  that  were  riding  through  a 
running  sea,  and  last  of  all  in  the  black  hour  before  the 
dawn,  when  it  was  difficult  to  see  the  tracks  and  the  beasts 
stumbled  in  the  darkness. 

The  morning  grew  gray,  and  they  were  still  riding.  But 
Osman's  strength  was  failing  rapidly,  and  when,  half  an 
hour  afterward,  the  sun  in  its  rising  brightness  began  to 
flush  with  pink  the  stony  heights  of  distant  hills,  they  drew 
rein,  made  their  camels  kneel,  and  dismounted. 

They  were  then  near  to  a  well,  from  which  a  group  of 
laughing  girls,  with  bare  bronzed  arms  and  shoulders,  were 
drawing  water  in  pitchers  and  carrying  it  away  on  their 
heads.  While  Osman  loosened  the  saddles  of  the  camels 
and  fed  the  tired  creatures  with  durah,  Gordon  asked  one 
of  the  girls  for  a  drink,  and  she  held  her  pitcher  to  his  lips, 
saying,  with  a  smile,  "  May  it  give  thee  health  and  pros- 
perity !  " 

After  half  an  hour's  rest,  having  filled  their  water-skins 
alad  being  refreshed  with  biscuits  and  dates,  they  readjusted 
the  saddles   of  the  camels,  mounted   and   rose,   and  started 


298  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

again,  making  their  salaams  to  the  young  daughters  of  the 
desert  who  stood  grouped  together  in  the  morning  sunshine 
and  looked  after  them  with  laughing  eyes. 

The  clear,  vivifying,  elastic  desert  air  breathed  upon 
their  faces,  and  their  camels,  strengthened  by  rest  and  food, 
swung  away  with  better  speed.  All  day  long  they  continued 
to  ride  without  stopping.  Gordon's  impatience  increased 
every  hour  as  he  reflected  upon  the  probable  consequence  of 
the  scheme  with  which  the  unknown  woman  had  inspired 
Ishmael,  and  Osman,  being  told  of  the  danger,  forgot  his 
weakness  in  the  fervour  of  his  devotion. 

The  shadows  lengthened  along  the  sea-flat  sand  while 
they  passed  over  wastes  without  a  bush  or  a  scrub  or  a  sign 
of  life,  but  just  as  the  sun  was  setting  they  entered  the 
crater-like  valley  of  Kerreri,  with  its  clumps  of  mimosa 
and  its  far  view  of  the  innumerable  islands  of  the  Nile. 

This  was  the  scene  of  Gordon's  first  battle,  the  battle  of 
Omdurman,  and  a  score  of  tender  and  thrilling  memories 
came  crowding  upon  him  from  the  past.  Yonder  was  the 
thicket  in  which  he  had  taken  the  Caliph's  flag,  the  spot 
where  he  had  left  Ali :  "  Show  the  bits  of  the  bridle  to  my 
Colonel  and  tell  him  I  died  faithful.  Say  my  salaams  to 
him,  Charlie.  I  knew  Charlie  Gordon  Lord  would  stay  with 
me  to  the  end." 

How  different  the  old  battlefield  was  to-day!  Instead 
of  the  deafening  roar  of  cannon,  the  wail  of  shell,  the  fren- 
zied shouts  of  the  dervishes,  and  the  swathes  of  sheeted 
dead,  there  was  only  the  grim  solitude  of  stony  hills  and 
yellow  sand,  with  here  and  there  some  white  and  glistening 
bones  over  which  the  vultures  circled  in  the  silent  air. 

Night  had  fallen  when  they  entered  Omdurman.  and  the 
change  in  the  town,  too,  struck  a  chill  into  Gordon's  heated 
spirit.  No  longer  the  dirty,  disgusting  Mahdist's  capital, 
it  was  deodorised,  swept,  and  sweet.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  he  was  opposing  the  forces  which  had  brought  this  civ- 
ilising change? 

When  the  travellers  reached  the  ferry  the  last  boat  for 
Khartoum  had  gone,  and,  the  Nile  being  high,  they  had  no 
choice  but  to  remain  in  Omdurman  until  morning. 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  299 

"Ma  'aleysh!  All  happens  as  God  ordains,"  said  Osman. 
But  Gordon's  impatience  could  scarcely  contain  itself,  so 
eager  was  he  to  undo  the  work  of  the  woman  who  had  done 
so  much  ill. 

They  lodged  in  a  kahn  of  the  old  slave  market,  which 
was  now  full  of  peaceful  people  sitting  about  coflFee-stalls 
lit  by  lanterns  and  candles,  where  formerly  the  air  was  tense 
with  the  frenzied  gallopings  of  the  wild  Baggarah  and  the 
melancholy  boom  of  the  great  ombeya,  the  fearful  trumpet 
of  death. 

Before  going  to  bed  Gordon  wrote  another  letter  to  Ish- 
mael,  saying  he  had  got  so  far  and  expected  to  meet  him 
in  the  morning.  Then,  being  unable  as  yet  to  sleep  under 
a  roof,  after  sleeping  so  long  on  the  desert,  he  dragged  his 
angerib  into  the  open  and  stretched  himself  under  the  stars. 

There,  gazing  up  into  the  great  vault  of  heaven,  a  mem- 
ory came  back  to  him  which  had  never  once  failed  to  come 
when  he  lay  down  to  sleep — the  memory  of  Helena.  Every 
night  on  his  long  desert  journey,  whatever  the  discomfort 
of  his  bed,  if  it  was  only  the  hole  between  two  stones  which 
the  Arab  shepherds  build  to  protect  themselves  from  the 
wind,  his  last  thought  had  been  of  her. 

She  was  gone,  she  was  lost  to  him,  she  would  be  in  Eng- 
land by  this  time,  and  he  was  exiled  from  home  for  ever; 
but  in  the  twilight  moments  of  the  heart  and  mind  that  go 
between  the  waking  sense  and  sleep  she  was  with  him  still. 

And  now,  lying  on  his  angerib  in  Omdurman,  he  could 
see  her  radiant  eyes  and  hear  her  deep,  melodious  voice, 
and  catch  the  note  of  the  gay  raillery  that  was  perhaps  her 
greatest  charm.  Though  he  had  done  this  ever  since  he  left 
Cairo,  he  felt  to-night  as  if  the  sweet  agony  of  it  all  would 
break  his  heart. 

He  looked  up  at  the  stars  and  found  pleasure  in  think- 
ing that  the  same  sky  was  over  Helena  in  England.  Then 
he  looked  across  at  Khartoum  and  saw  that  all  the  windows 
of  the  Palace  were  lit  up,  as  for  a  dance. 

A  mystic  sense  of  some  impending  event  came  over  him. 
What  could  it  be?  he  wondered.  Then  he  remembered  the 
word  of  Osman,  who  was  now  breathing  heavily  at  his  side. 


300  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  il/a  'aleysh!  All  happens  as  God  ordains,"  he  thought. 
And  then,  sending  a  last  greeting  to  Helena  in  England, 
he  turned  over  and  fell  asleep. 


IX 

Early  that  morning  Abdullah  had  entered  Ishmael's  room 
while  the  Master  was  still  sleeping,  for  a  messenger  from 
Metimmeh,  coming  by  train,  had  brought  an  urgent  letter. 

Ishmael  read  the  letter  and  rose  immediately,  and  when 
Helena  met  him  in  the  guest-room  half  an  hour  afterward 
she  saw  that  he  was  excited  and  disturbed. 

"  Rani,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  .thinking  about  our  plan, 
and  have  certain  doubts  about  it.  Better  let  it  rest  for  a 
few  days,  at  all  events." 

Helena  asked  why,  and  she  was  told  that  a  stranger  was 
coming  whose  counsel  might  be  wise,  for  he  knew  Cairo, 
the  Government,  and  the  Egj-ptian  Army,  and  he  had  asked 
Ishmael  to  wait  until  he  arrived  before  committing  himself 
to  any  course. 

"Who  is  he?"  she  asked. 

"  One  who  loves  the  people  and  has  suffered  sorely  for 
his  love  of  them." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  They  call  him  Sheikh  Omar  Benani." 

At  that  moment  she  learned  no  more  than  that  the 
stranger  was  a  Bedouin  chief  of  great  fame  and  influence, 
that  he  had  rested  at  Metimmeh  the  night  before,  but  was 
now  coming  on  to  Khartoum  as  fast  as  a  camel  could 
carry  him. 

"  He  may  be  here  to-night — to-morrow  at  latest,"  said 
Ishmael ;  "  so  let  us  leave  things  where  they  are  until  our 
brother  arrives." 

This  news  threw  Helena  into  a  fever  of  excitement.  She 
saw  the  possibility  of  her  scheme  coming  to  naught.  The 
Bedouin  who  was  now  on  his  way  might  destroy  it. 

She  was  afraid  of  this  Bedouin.  If  he  knew  Cairo,  the 
Government,  and  the  Egyptian   Army,  he  must  also  know 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  301 

that  the  plan  which  Ishmael  had  proposed  to  himself  was 
impossible.  That  being  so,  he  would  advise  Ishmael  against 
it.  His  influence  with  Ishmael  would  be  greater  than  her 
own,  and  as  a  consequence  her  plan  would  fail.  Then  all 
she  had  hoped  for,  all  she  had  come  for,  all  she  had  sacri- 
ficed so  much  for,  would  be  lost  and  wasted. 

What  was  she  to  do  ?  There  was  only  one  thing  possible 
— to  cause  Ishmael  to  commit  himself  to  her  plan  before 
the  Bedouin  arrived  in  Khartoum. 

Again  fate  assisted  her.  The  same  train  that  brought 
the  Bedouin's  letter  brought  another  messenger  from  Cairo, 
He  was  an  immensely  tall  Dinka,  who  had  been  employed 
to  avert  suspicion.  As  soon  as  he  was  alone  with  Ishmael 
and  his  household  he  slipped  off  his  sandal  and,  tearing 
open  the  undersole,  produced  a  very  small  letter. 

It  was  from  the  Ulema  of  El  Azhar,  and  gave  further 
particulars  of  the  forthcoming  festivities,  with  one  hint  of 
amazing  advice  that  certainly  could  not  have  come  from 
men  of  the  world. 

The  Consul-General  had  decided  to  give  his  annual  din- 
ner in  honour  of  the  King's  birthday  not  as  usual  at  the 
British  Agency,  but  in  the  Pavilion  of  the  Ghezirah  Palace, 
on  the  island  in  front  of  the  city.  All  the  authorities  would 
be  there  that  night,  housed  under  one  roof.  The  British 
Army  would  still  be  in  the  provinces,  and  the  Egyptian 
Army  alone  would  be  left  in  defence  of  the  town.  There- 
fore, to  prevent  the  possibility  of  bloodshed,  there  was  only 
one  thing  to  do — turn  the  key  on  the  Pavilion,  in  order  to 
imprison  the  persons  in  command,  and  then  open  the  bridge 
that  crossed  the  Nile,  that  Ishmael's  following,  with  the  con- 
sent of  the  native  soldiers,  might  enter  Cairo  unopposed ! 

It  was  a  plot  whereof  the  counterpart  could  only  have 
been  found  in  the  history  of  Abu  Moslim  and  "  Al  Man- 
sour,"-  and  perhaps  for  that  reason  alone  it  took  Ishmael's 
heart  by  storm.  But  it  required  immediate  confirmation,  for 
if  the  secret  scheme  was  to  be  carried  out  the  arrangements 
were  matters  of  urgency  and  the  reply  must  be  received  at 
once. 

There  were  some  moments  of  tense  silence  after  Ishmael 
21 


302  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

had  read  the  letter,  for  already  he  had  begun  to  hesitate, 
to  talk  again  of  waiting  for  the  Bedouin,  who  knew  Egypt 
better  than  any  one  in  the  Soudan  and  was  wise  and  brave 
and  learned  in  war.  But  Helena,  seeing  her  advantage,  be- 
gan to  speak,  with  a  flushed  face  and  a  trembling  tongue, 
of  the  train  that  was  to  leave  Khartoum  for  Cairo  that 
morning  and  of  the  interval  of  four  days  before  the  departure 
of  another  one. 

"  There  can  be  no  time  to  lose,"  she  said,  with  a  stifling 
sense  of  duplicity,  "  especially  if  the  Ulema  are  to  arrange 
for  your  own  arrival  as  well." 

At  length  Ishmael,  no  longer  the  man  he  used  to  be, 
strong  above  all  in  common  sense,  but  an  enthusiast  living 
in  a  world  of  dream,  was  swept  away  by  the  Ulema's  scheme. 
Seeing  only  one  sure  way  to  avoid  bloodshed — that  of  shut- 
ting up  the  British  ofiicials  in  the  midst  of  their  festivities, 
while  the  bridge  that  crossed  the  Nile  was  opened  and  his 
followers  took  peaceful  possession  of  the  city — he  called  on 
Helena  to  write  his  reply.     It  ran : 

"  To  his  Serenity  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar  from  the 
slave  of  God,  Ishmael  Ameer :  Good  news !  In  the-  interests 
of  peace  I  agree,  though  liking  not  for  other  reasons  your 
plan  of  imprisoning  Pharaoh  and  his  people  in  their  Pavil- 
ion, lest  it  should  be  said  of  us,  *  Behold  the  true  believer 
resorts  to  the  tricks  of  the  infidels,  who  trust  not  in  the  good 
arm  of  God,  praise  be  to  Him,  the  Exalted  One !  " 

"  Nevertheless,  I  send  you  this  word  of  greeting,  giving 
my  consent  and  saying,  '  Shortly  I  go  down  to  Cairo  myself 
to  call  upon  our  brothers  under  arms  to  our  very  great  Lord, 
the  lOiedive,  to  refuse,  when  the  day  of  our  deliverance 
comes,  to  shed  the  blood  of  the  children  of  the  Most  High.' " 

Having  dictated  this  letter,  and  added  the  usual  Arabic 
salutations,  he  signed  it,  and  then,  full  of  a  fresh  enthusi- 
asm, he  went  off  to  midday  prayers  in  the  mosque,  where 
with  greater  fervour  than  before  he  delivered  his  new  mes- 
sage about  the  coming  of  the  end. 

Helena  was  now  alone,  for  the  Dinka  had  gone  in  with 
Abdullah  to  eat  and  to  rest.  The  signed  letter  lay  before 
her,  and  she  knew  that  her  time  had  come.    In  great  haste 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  303 

she  made  a  copy  of  the  letter,  and  without  waiting  to  think 
what  she  was  doing  she  added  Ishmael's  name  to  it.  Then, 
hiding  the  original  in  her  bosom,  she  called  for  the  Diiika, 
gave  him  the  copy,  and  hurried  him  off  to  the  train,  which 
was  leaving  innnediately.  After  that,  with  a  sense  of  mingled 
shame  and  triumph,  she  wrote  to  the  Consul-General.  Her 
excitement  was  so  great  that  she  could  hardly  hold  the  pen 
or  frame  coherent  sentences.    This  was  what  she  wrote: 

"Dear  Lord  Nuneham:  You  will  remember  that  in  the 
letter  I  wrote  to  you  before  I  left  Cairo  I  told  you  that  I 
should  write  again,  and  that  when  I  wrote,  your  enemy  and 
mine  and  Gordon's,  as  well  as  England's  and  Egypt's,  would 
be  in  your  hands. 

"  I  am  now  fulfilling  my  promise,  and  you  shall  judge  for 
yourself  whether  I  am  justifying  my  word.  Ishmael  Ameer, 
at  the  instigation  of  the  Ulema,  is  about  to  return  to  Cairo. 
His  object  is  to  organise  a  meeting  among  the  soldiers  of  the 
Egyptian  Army,  so  that  a  vast  multitude  of  his  followers, 
coming  behind  him,  may  take  possession  of  the  city, 

"  This  is  to  be  done  during  the  forthcoming  festivities, 
and  it  is  to  reach  its  climax  on  the  night  of  the  King's 
Birthday.  Proof  enclosed.  It  is  the  original  of  a  letter  to 
the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar,  a  copy  having  been  sent  instead. 

"  Ishmael  will  travel  by  train — probably  within  a  week — 
and  he  will  wear  the  disguise  of  a  Bedouin  Sheikh.  I  leave 
you  to  wait  and  watch  for  him. 

"Did  I  not  say  I  was  not  idly  boasting?    In  haste, 

"  Helena  Graves. 

"  P.S. — I  send  this  by  my  boy,  Mosie.  Please  keep  him 
in  Cairo  until  you  hear  from  me  again." 

When  she  had  finished  her  letter  she  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment and  looked  fixedly  before  her.  Although  she  said 
nothing  her  lips  moved  as  if  she  were  interrogating  the 
empty  air.  She  was  asking  herself  again,  "  Am  I  cruel  and 
revengeful  and  vindictive  ? "  And  she  was  replying  to  her- 
self as  she  had  replied  before :  "  If  so,  I  cannot  help  it.     I 


304  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

have  lost  my  father  and  I  have  lost  Gordon,  and  I  am  alone 
and  my  heart  is  torn." 

Strengthened  by  this  thought  she  took  Ishmael's  letter 
from  her  bosom  and  folded  it  inside  her  own.  But  while 
she  was  in  the  act  of  putting  both  into  an  envelope  she 
paused  again,  for  a  new  and  more  startling  memory  had 
flashed  upon  her.  It  was  the  memory  of  the  marks  upon 
her  father's  throat  and  of  the  missing  finger  print  which 
had  somehow  formed  so  fatal  an  evidence  of  Ishmael's  guilt. 

How  had  it  happened  that  she  had  forgotten  this  fact 
until  now — that  during  all  the  time  she  had  been  in  Khar- 
toum she  had  never  once  remembered  to  verify  it — that  even 
at  the  moment  she  could  not  say  whether  the  third  finger 
of  Ishmael's  left  hand  was  intact  or  not  ? 

But  no  matter !  It  was  not  a  fact  of  the  greatest  con- 
sequence, and  in  any  case  she  was  too  far  gone  to  think  of 
it  now. 

She  sealed  her  envelope  and  addressed  it  and  then  called 
for  Mosie.  The  black  boy  came  running  at  the  sound  of 
her  agitated  voice. 

"  Mosie,"  she  said  in  a  breathless  whisper,  "  you  have 
always  said  that  you  loved  me  so  much  that  you  would  lay 
down  your  life  for  me."  The  black  boy  showed  his  shining 
white  teeth  as  if  from  ear  to  ear.  "  Do  you  think  you  could 
find  your  way  back  to  Cairo  alone  and  deliver  a  letter  to 
the  English  lord  ?  " 

"  Let  lady  try  me,"  said  Mosie,  who  was  ablaze  with  ex- 
citement in  an  instant. 

Then  she  told  him  how  he  was  to  go — by  train  to  Haifa, 
by  Government  boat  to  Shellal,  by  train  again  from  As- 
souan to  his  journey's  end,  travelling  always  in  compart- 
ments occupied  by  natives.  She  also  gave  him  strict  injunc- 
tions against  speaking  to  any  one,  either  in  Khartoum  or  on 
the  way,  or  in  Cairo  until  he  came  to  the  British  Agency. 
There  he  was  to  ask  for  the  Consul-General  and  give  into 
his  hands — his  only — ^her  private  letter. 

"  The  train  leaves  in  half  an  hour,  Mosie,  so  you'll  have 
to  be  quick,"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes,  lady,  yes,  yes,"  said  Mosie  at  every  word,  and  in 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  305 

his  eagerness  to  be  gone  he  almost  snatched  the  letter  out 
of  her  hand. 

"  No ;  give  me  one  of  your  sandals,"  she  said ;  and  when 
he  had  whipped  it  off,  she  took  her  scissors  and  lifting  the 
inner  sole  she  hid  her  letter  underneath. 

Then  she  hurried  into  her  room,  and  returning  with  a 
small  canvas  bag,  which  contained  nearly  all  the  money 
she  had  left  in  the  world,  she  gave  it  to  the  black  boy  and 
sent  him  off. 


After  that  she  sat  down,  for  her  heart  was  beating  vio- 
lently and  she  could  scarcely  breathe.  At  the  same  moment 
she  caught  sight  of  her  face  in  a  hand  glass  that  stood  on 
the  table  at  which  she  wrote,  and  the  features  looked  so 
strange  that  they  scarcely  seemed  to  be  her  own. 

If  anybody  with  the  eye  of  the  spirit  could  have  gazed 
at  that  moment  into  the  deepest  recesses  of  her  soul — 
harder  to  look  into  than  the  obscurity  of  the  sea — he  would 
have  seen  a  battlefield  of  contending  passions.  She  was  re- 
flecting for  the  first  time  on  the  whole  meaning  of  what  she 
had  done.  She  had  condemned  Ishmael  Ameer  to  death ! 
Or  at  least,  at  the  very  least,  to  lifelong  imprisonment  in 
Damietta  or  Torah! 

When  she  put  it  so  the  furnace  of  her  conscience  seemed 
to  consume  her,  and  in  order  to  live  with  herself  she  had 
to  oppose  that  thought  with  thoughts  of  Gordon — Gordon 
gone,  she  knew  not  where,  an  exile,  an  outcast,  his  brilliant 
young  life  wasted,  never  to  be  seen  again. 

This  relieved  the  riot  in  her  brain,  and  to  ease  her  heart 
still  further  she  made  herself  believe  that  what  she  had  done 
had  not  been  to  revenge  herself,  but  to  avenge  Gordon,  whom 
Ishmael's  evil  influence  had  destroyed. 

"  Serves  him  right,"  she  thought.  "  Let  him  go  to  Dami- 
etta !     W^hat  better  does  he  deserve  ?  " 

At  that  moment  Ayesha,  Ishmael's  little  daughter,  came 
running  with  bare  feet  into  the  house,  and  seeing  Helena 


306  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

she  leaped  into  her  arais  and  kissed  her.  The  kiss  of  the 
child  seemed  like  a  blow — it  made  her  dizzy. 

At  the  next  moment,  while  Ayesha  was  mumbling  affec- 
tionate play-words  which  Helena  did  not  hear,  and  Zenoba, 
the  Arab  nurse,  stood  beating  her  impatient  foot  upon  the 
■floor,  there  came  from  outside  the  murmur  of  a  crowd.  It 
was  the  crowd  of  Ishmael's  followers  bringing  him  home 
from  the  mosque. 

They  were  calling  upon  God  and  His  Prophet  to  bless 
.him,  touching  his  white  caftan  as  if  it  were  divine  and 
"virtue  were  coming  out  of  him. 

He  dismissed  them  with  words  of  rebuke — gentler  and 
more  indulgent  than  before,  perhaps — and  entering  the  house 
he  called  for  food. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  Ishmael  and  Helena  and  old 
JMahmud  were  sitting  in  the  guest-room  together,  drinking 
new  milk  and  eating  soft  bread. 

"But  where  is  your  boy,  O  Rani?"  asked  Ishmael,  who 
missed  the  great  fan  of  ostrich  feathers. 

Helena  made  a  halting  excuse.  Mosie  had  been  trouble- 
some— she  had  sent  him  back  to  where  he  came  from — Cairo. 

"  Cairo  ? "  asked  the  Arab  woman,  with  a  glance  of  sus- 
picion. 

Helena  looked  confused,  but  Ishmael  saw  nothing.  He 
was  more  than  usually  excited,  enthusiastic,  and  full  of 
great  hopes.  After  a  while  he  talked  of  the  Bedouin  who 
was  coming. 

"  Our  brother  is  not,  in  fact,  a  Bedouin,"  he  said. 

"Not  a  Bedouin?" 

"  Neither  is  he  a  Moslem.  He  is  a  Christian,  and  indeed 
an  Englishman." 

"  An  Englishman  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes ;  but  he  is  one  who  loves  the  Moslems  and  has 
gone  through  shame  and  degradation  rather  than  do  them 
a  wrong." 

Helena  was  afraid  to  ask  further  questions.  She  could 
only  listen,  terrified  by  a  vague  apprehension. 

"  Truly,  O  lady,  he  who  loveth  all  the  children  of  God, 
him  God  loveth,"  said  Ishmael.     "  This  brave  man  was  a 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  307 

soldier,  and  if  he  has  suffered  rather  than  do  an  evil  act,  ■ 
will  God  forget  him?    No!" 

Helena  shuddered.  The  idea  that  was  taking  shape  in 
her  mind  seemed  incredible.  Ishmael  was  speaking  in  the 
softest  tones,  yet  his  voice  seemed  like  the  subterranean 
sounds  that  precede  great  shocks  of  earthquake. 

"  He  is  coming.  Be  good  to  him,  my  Rani,  If  we  could 
take  his  heart  out  and  weigh  it  we  should  find  it  gold." 

Helena  was  struck  with  a  sort  of  stupor.  "  Am  I  dream- 
ing?" she  asked  herself.  "What  am  I  thinking  about?" 
It  was  one  of  those  mysterious  moments  on  the  eve  of  the 
great  events  of  life  when  murmurs  come  from  we  know  not 
where. 

The  long  hours  of  that  day  passed  in  a  sort  of  dark  con- 
fusion. At  last  the  sun  set,  and  the  moon  rose  over  the 
desert,  the  golden  southern  moon,  in  the  purple  of  the 
Eastern  sky,  and  lit  up  the  wilderness  of  sand  as  with  a 
softer  sun. 

It  grew  late  and  Helena  rose  to  go  to  her  room.  As  she 
did  so  she  almost  fell  from  dizziness,  and  Ishmael  helped 
her  to  the  door  of  the  women's  quarters.  She  had  seen  his 
lustrous  eyes  upon  her  with  the  expression  that  had  made 
her  tremble  on  the  night  of  the  betrothal;  but  again,  in  the 
same  scarcely  audible  voice,  he  said : 

"  God  give  you  a  good  morning !  "  and  putting,  for  the 
first  time,  his  lips  to  her  hand,  he  went  away. 

When  she  was  alone  a  long  hour  passed  in  silence.  The 
bedroom  was  in  a  state  of  perfect  calm,  yet  a  frightful 
tumult  was  going  on  in  her  brain.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
he  who  was  coming  was 

No!     The  wild  irony  of  that  thought  was  too  terrible. 

That  at  the  very  moment  when  she  thought  she  was- 
avenging  Gordon  for  the  injury  he  had  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  Ishmael — that  at  that  moment,  by  some  sinister  eccen- 
tricity of  destiny,  he — he  himself 

In  the  midst  of  her  hideous  pain  a  sweet  and  joyous 
sound  fell  upon  her  ear.  It  was  the  voice  of  the  child,  who 
had  awakened  for  a  moment  from  her  peaceful  sleep : 

"  Will  you  not  come  into  bed.  Rani  ? " 


o08  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear,  i:)resGntly,"  she  answered,  and  at  the 
next  moment  the  child's  equal  and  tranquil  breathing,  so 
gentle,  so  calm,  fell  on  her  ear  again. 

Innocence  is  the  most  formidable  of  all  spectacles  that 
can  confront  an  uneasy  conscience,  and  when  at  length 
Ilelena  got  into  bed,  and  the  child,  in  the  blind  mists  of 
sleep,  put  her  arms  about  her  neck,  she  had  to  justify  her- 
self by  thinking  that  in  everything  she  had  done,  every- 
thing she  had  tried  to  do,  she  had  been  moved  by  the  inci- 
dents of  the  most  irresistible  provocation. 

"After  all,  he  killed  my  father!''^  she  thought. 

But  nevertheless  she  felt  again,  as  she  was  dropping  off 
to  sleep,  that  she  was  falling,  falling,  falling  over  the  edge 
of  a  yawning  precipice. 


XI 

When  Helena  awoke  next  morning  she  was  immediately 
conscious  of  a  great  commotion  both  within  and  without 
the  house.  After  a  moment  Zenoba  came  into  the  bedroom 
and  began  to  tell  her  what  had  happened. 

"  Have  you  not  heard,  O  Rani  ? "  said  the  Arab  woman 
in  her  oily  voice.  "  No  ?  You  sleep  so  late,  do  you  ?  When 
everybody  is  up  and  doing,  too !  Well,  the  Master  has  news 
that  the  great  Bedouin  is  at  Omdurman,  and  he  is  sending 
the  people  down  to  the  river  to  bring  him  up.  The  stranger 
is  to  be  received  in  the  mosque,  I  may  tell  you.  Yes,  indeed, 
in  the  mosque,  although  he  is  English  and  a  Christian." 

Then  Ayesha  came  skipping  into  the  room  in  wild  ex- 
citement. 

"  Rani !  Rani !  "  she  cried.  "  Get  up  and  come  with 
US.     We  are  going  now — this  minute — everybody !  " 

Helena  excused  herself — she  felt  unwell  and  would  stay 
in  bod  that  day;  so  the  child  and  the  nurse  went  off  with- 
out her. 

Yet  left  alone  she  could  not  rest.  The  feverish  uncer- 
tainty of  the  night  before  returned  with  redoubled  force, 
and  after  a  while  she  felt  compelled  to  rise. 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  309 

Going  into  the  guest-room  she  found  the  house  empty 
and  the  camp  in  front  of  it  deserted.  She  was  standing  by 
the  door,  hardly  knowing  what  to  do,  when  the  strange  sound 
which  she  had  heard  on  the  night  of  the  betrothal  came  from 
a  distance: 

"  Lu-lu-lu-u-u !  " 

It  was  the  zaghareet,  the  women's  cry  of  joy,  and  it 
was  mingled  with  the  louder  shouts  of  men.  The  stranger 
was  coming,  the  people  were  bringing  him  on.  Who  would 
he  be  ?  Helena's  anxiety  was  almost  more  than  her  brain 
and  nerves  could  bear.  She  strained  her  eyes  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  jetty,  past  the  Abbas  Barracks  and  the  Mongers 
Fort. 

The  moments  passed  like  hours,  but  at  length  the  crowd 
appeared.  x\t  first  sight  it  looked  like  a  forest  of  small 
trees  approaching.  The  forest  seemed  to  sway  and  to  send 
out  monotonous  sounds,  as  if  moved  by  a  moaning  wind. 
But  looking  again,  Helena  saw  what  was  happening — the 
people  were  carrying  green  palm  branches  and  strewing  them 
on  the  yellow  sand  in  front  of  the  great  stranger. 

He  was  riding  on  a  white  camel,  Ishmael's  camel,  and 
Ishmael  was  riding  beside  him.  Long  before  he  came  near 
to  her  Helena  saw  him,  straining  her  sight  to  do  so.  He 
was  wearing  the  ample  robes  of  a  Bedouin  and  his  face  was 
almost  hidden  by  the  sweeping  shawl  (the  kufiah)  which  cov- 
ered his  head  and  neck. 

But  it  was  he !  It  was  Gordon !  Helena  could  not  mis- 
take him.  One  glance  was  enough.  Without  looking  a 
second  time  she  ran  back  to  her  bedroom  and  covered  her 
eyes  and  ears. 

For  a  time  the  voices  of  the  people  followed  her  through 
the  deadening  walls. 

"Lu-lu-u-u!"  cried  the  women. 

"  La  ilaha  illa-llah !  La  ilaha  illa-llah !  "  shouted  the 
men. 

But  after  a  while  the  muffled  sounds  died  away,  and 
Helena  knew  that  the  great  company  had  passed  on  to  the 
mosque.  It  was  like  a  dream,  a  mirage  of  the  mind.  It 
had  come,  and  it  was  gone,  and  in  the  dazed  condition  of 


310  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

her  senses  she  could  almost  persuade  herself  that  she  had 
imagined  everything. 

Her  impatience  would  not  permit  her  to  remain  in  the 
house.  She,  too,  must  go  to  the  mosque,  although  she  had 
never  been  there  before.  So,  putting  on  her  Indian  veil, 
she  set  out  hurriedly.  When  she  came  to  herself  again  she 
was  in  the  gallery,  people  were  making  way  for  her,  and  she 
was  dropping  into  a  place.  Then  she  realised  that  she  was 
sitting  between  Zenoba  and  little  Ayesha. 

The  mosque  was  a  large,  four-square  edifice,  full  of  col- 
umns and  arches,  and  with  a  kind  of  inner  court  that  was 
open  to  the  sky  and  had  minarets  at  every  corner.  The 
gallery  looked  down  on  this  court,  and  Helena  saw  below  her, 
half  in  shadow,  half  in  sunshine,  the  heads  of  a  great  con- 
course of  men  in  turbans,  tarbooshes,  and  brown  felt  skull- 
caps, all  kneeling  in  rows  on  bright  red  carpets.  In  the 
front  row,  with  his  face  toward  the  Kibleh  (the  niche  to- 
ward Mecca),  Ishmael  knelt  in  his  white  caftan,  and  by 
his  side,  with  all  eyes  upon  him,  as  if  every  interest  centred 
on  that  spot,  knelt  the  stranger  in  Bedouin  dress. 

It  was  Friday  and  prayers  were  proceeding,  now  surging 
like  the  sea,  now  silent  like  the  desert,  sometimes  started, 
as  it  seemed,  by  the  voice  of  the  unseen  muezzin  on  the 
minarets  above,  then  echoed  by  the  men  on  the  carpets  below, 
but  Helena  hardly  heard  them.  Of  one  thing  only  was  she 
conscious — that  by  the  tragic  play  of  destiny  he  was  there 
while  she  was  here. 

After  a  while  she  became  aware  that  Ishmael  had  risen 
and  was  beginning  to  speak,  and  she  tried  to  regain  com- 
posure enough  to  listen  to  what  he  said. 

"  My  brothers,"  he  said,  "  it  is  according  to  the  precepts 
of  the  Prophet — peace  to  his  name! — to  receive  the  Chris- 
tian in  our  temples  if  he  comes  with  the  good-will  of  good 
Moslems  and  with  a  heart  that  is  true  to  them.  You  know, 
oh,  my  brothers,  whether  I  am  a  Moslem  or  not,  and  I  pray 
to  the  Most  Merciful  to  bless  all  such  Christians  as  the  one 
who  is  here  to-day." 

More  of  the  same  kind  Ishmael  said,  but  Helena  found 
it  hard,   in  the  tumult  of  her  brain,  to  follow  him.     She 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  311 

saw  that  both  the  women  about  her  and  the  men  below  were 
seized  with  that  religious  fervour  which  comes  to  the  hu- 
man soul  when  it  feels  that  something  grand  is  being  done. 
It  was  as  though  the  memory  of  a  thousand  years  of  hatred 
between  Moslem  and  Christian,  with  all  its  legacy  of  cruelty 
and  barbarity,  had  been  wiped  out  of  their  hearts  by  the 
stranger  on  whom  their  eyes  were  fixed — as  though  by  some 
great  act  of  self-sacrifice  and  brotherhood  he  had  united 
East  and  West — and  this  fact  of  his  presence  at  their 
prayers  was  the  sign  and  symbol  of  an  eternal  truce. 

The  sublime  spectacle  seemed  to  capture  all  their  souls, 
and  when  Ishmael  turned  toward  the  stranger  at  last  and 
laid  his  hand  on  his  head  and  said,  "  May  God  and  His 
prophet  bless  you  for  what  you  have  done  for  us  and  ours," 
the  emotions  of  the  people  were  raised  to  the  highest  pitch, 
and  they  rose  to  their  feet  as  one  man,  and  holding  up  their 
lands  they  cried,  the  whole  congregation  together,  in  a 
voice  that  was  like  the  breaking  of  a  great  wave: 

"  You  are  now  one  of  us,  and  we  are  of  you,  and  we 
are  brothers !  " 

By  this  time  the  women  in  the  gallery  were  weeping 
audibly,  and  Helena,  from  quite  other  causes,  was  scarcely 
able  to  control  her  feelings.  "Why  did  I  come  here?"  she 
asked  herself,  and  then,  seeing  that  the  Arab  woman  was 
watching  her  through  the  slits  of  her  jealous  eyes,  she  got 
up  and  pushed  her  way  out  of  the  mosque. 

Back  in  her  room,  lying  face  down  upon  the  bed,  she 
sought  in  vain  to  collect  her  faculties  sufiiciently  to  follow 
and  comprehend  the  course  of  events.  Yes,  it  was  Gordon. 
He  had  come  to  join  Ishmael.  Why  had  she  never  thought 
of  that  as  a  probable  sequel  to  what  had  occurred  in  Cairo? 
Had  he  not  been  turned  out  by  his  own  ? — in  effect,  cashiered 
from  the  Army?  Forbidden  his  father's  house?  And  had 
she  not  herself  driven  him  away  from  her  ?  What  sequel  was 
more  natural?    More  plainly  inevitable? 

Then  she  grew  hot  and  cold  at  a  new  and  still  more 
terrifying  thought — Gordon  would  come  there!  How  could 
she  meet  him?  How  look  into  his  face?  A  momentary 
impulse  to   deny  her  own  identity  was  put  aside  immedi- 


312  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

ately.  Impossible !  Useless !  Then  how  could  she  account 
to  Gordon  for  her  presence  in  that  house?  Ishmael's  "wife! 
According  to  Mohammedan  law  and  custom  not  only  be- 
trothed but  married  to  him ! 

When  she  put  her  position  to  herself  so,  the  thread  of 
her  thoughts  seemed  to  snap  in  her  brain.  She  could  not 
disentangle  the  knot  of  them.  A  sense  of  infidelity  to  Gor- 
don, to  the  very  spirit  of  love  itself,  brought  her  for  a  mo- 
ment the  self-reproach  and  the  despair  of  a  woman  who  has 
sinned. 

In  the  midst  of  her  pain  she  heard  the  light  voices  of 
people  returning  to  the  house,  and  at  the  next  moment 
Ayesha  and  Zenoba  came  into  her  room.  The  child  was 
skipping  about,  full  of  high  spirits,  and  the  Arab  woman 
was  almost  bitterly  merry. 

"  Rani  will  be  happy  to  hear  that  the  Master  is  bring- 
ing the  stranger  home,"  said  Zenoba. 

Helena  turned  and  gazed  at  the  woman  with  a  stupefied 
expression.  What  she  had  foreseen  as  a  terrifying  possi- 
bility was  about  to  come  to  pass!  She  opened  her  mouth 
as  if  to  speak,  but  said  nothing. 

Meantime  the  Arab  woman,  in  a  significant  tone  that 
was  meant  to  cut  to  the  quick,  went  on  to  say  that  this 
was  the  highest  honour  the  Moslem  could  show  the  unbe- 
liever, as  well  as  the  greatest  trust  he  could  repose  in  him. 

"  Have  you  never  heard  of  that  in  your  country,  O 
Eani  ?     Xo?     It  is  true,  though.     Quite  true!" 

People  supposed  that  every  Moslem  guarded  his  house  so 
jealously  that  no  strange  man  might  look  upon  his  wife, 
but  among  the  Arabs  of  the  desert,  when  a  traveller,  tired 
and  weary,  sought  food  and  rest,  the  Sheikh  would  some- 
times send  him  into  his  harem  and  leave  him  there  for  three 
days,  with  full  permission  to  do  as  he  thought  well. 

"But  he  must  never  wrong  that  harem,  O  lady!  If  he 
does  the  Arab  husband  will  kill  him!  Yes,  and  the  faith- 
less wife  as  well!" 

So  violent  was  the  conflict  going  on  Avithin  her  that 
Helena  hardly  heard  the  woman's  words,  though  the  jealous 
spirit  behind  them  was  piercing  her  heart  like  needles.    She 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  313 

became  conscious  of  the  great  crowd  returning,  and  it  was 
making  the  same  uluhition  as  before,  mingled  with  the  same 
shouts.  At  the  next  moment  there  came  a  knock  at  the  bed- 
room door,  and  Abdullah's  voice,  crying: 

"  Lady !     Lady !  " 

Helena  reeled  a  little  in  rising  to  reply,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  she  reached  the  door. 

"  Master  has  brought  Sheikh  Omar  Benani  back  and  is 
calling  for  the  lady.    What  shall  I  say?" 

Helena  fumbled  the  hem  of  her  handkerchief  in  her  fin- 
gers as  she  was  wont  to  do  in  moments  of  great  agitation. 
She  was  asking  herself  what  would  happen  if  she  obeyed 
Ishmael's  summons.  Would  Gordon  see  through  her  motive 
in  being  there?    If  so,  would  he  betray  her  to  Ishmael  ? 

Already  she  could  hear  a  confused  murmur  in  the  guest- 
room, and  out  of  that  murmur  her  memory  seemed  to  grasp 
back,  as  from  a  vanishing  dream,  the  sound  of  a  voice  that 
had  been  lost  to  her. 

She  felt  as  if  she  were  suffocating.  Her  breathing  was 
coming  rapidly  from  the  depth  of  her  throat.  Yet  the 
Arab  woman  was  watching  her,  and  while  a  whirlwind  was 
going  on  within  she  had  to  preserve  a  complete  tranquillity 
without. 

"  Say  I  am  coming,"  she  said. 

The  supreme  moment  had  arrived.  With  a  great  effort 
she  gathered  up  all  her  strength,  drew  her  Indian  shawl 
over  her  head  in  such  a  way  that  it  partly  concealed  her 
face,  and  then,  pallid,  trembling,  and  with  downcast  eyes, 
she  walked  out  of  the  room. 


XII 

Gordon  had  that  day  experienced  emotions  only  less 
poignant  than  those  of  Helena.  In  the  early  morning,  after 
parting  with  Osman,  the  devoted  comrade  of  his  desert  jour- 
ney, he  had  encountered  the  British  Sub-Governor  of  Om- 
durman,  a  young  captain   of  cavalry  who  had  once  served 


314  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

under  himself,  and  now  spoke  to  him,  in  his  assumed  char- 
acter as  a  Bedouin,  with  a  certain  air  of  command. 

This  brought  him  some  twinges  of  wounded  pride,  which 
were  complicated  by  qualms  of  conscience,  as  he  rode  through 
the  streets,  past  the  silversmiths'  shops,  where  grave-looking 
Arabs  sold  bracelets  and  necklets;  past  the  weaving  quarter, 
where  men  and  boys  were  industriously  driving  the  shuttle 
through  the  strings  of  their  flimsy  looms;  past  the  potter's 
bazaar  and  the  grain  market,  all  so  sweet  and  so  free  from 
their  former  smell  of  sun-dried  filth  and  warm  humanity 
packed  close  together. 

"  Am  I  coming  here  to  oppose  the  power  that  in  so  few 
years  has  turned  order  into  chaos?"  he  asked  himself;  but 
more  personal  emotions  came  later. 

They  came  in  full  flood  when  the  ferry  steamer  by  which 
he  crossed  the  river  approached  the  bank  on  the  other  side, 
and  he  saw  standing  there,  near  to  the  spot  on  which  the 
dervishes  landed  on  the  black  night  of  the  fall  of  Khartoum, 
a  vast  crowd  of  their  sons  and  their  sons'  sons  who  were 
waiting  to  receive  him. 

Again  came  qualms  of  conscience,  when  out  of  this  crowd 
stepped  Ishmael  Ameer,  who  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks  and 
led  him  forward  to  his  own  camel  amid  the  people's  shouts 
of  welcome.  Was  he,  as  a  British  soldier,  throwing  in  his 
lot  with  the  enemies  of  his  country?  As  an  Englishman 
and  a  Christian,  was  he  siding  with  the  adversaries  of  re- 
ligion and  civilisation? 

The  journey  through  the  town  to  the  mosque,  with  the 
lu-luing  and  the  throwing  of  palm  branches  before  his  cam- 
el's feet,  was  less  of  a  triumphant  progress  than  an  abject 
penance.  lie  could  hardly  hold  up  his  head.  The  sight  of 
the  bronze  and  black  faces  about  him,  shouting  for  him — for 
him  of  another  race  and  creed — making  that  act  his  glory 
which  had  led  to  his  crime — this  was  almost  more  than  he 
could  bear. 

But  when  he  reached  the  mosque;  when  he  found  him- 
self, unbeliever  though  he  was,  kneeling  in  front  of  the 
Kibleh;  when  Ishmael  laid  his  hand  on  his  head  and  called 
on  God  to  bless  him,  and  the  people  cried  with  one  voice, 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  315 

"  You  are  one  of  us  and  we  are  brothers,"  the  sense  of  hu- 
man sympathy  swept  down  every  other  emotion  and  he  felt 
as  if  at  any  moment  he  might  burst  into  tears. 

And  then,  when  prayers  were  over  and  Ishmael  brought 
up  his  uncle,  and  the  patriarchal  old  man,  with  a  beard  like 
a  flowijig  fleece,  said  he  was  to  lodge  at  his  house,  and 
finally,  v/hen  Ishmael  led  him  home  and  took  him  to  his 
own  chamber  and  called  to  Abdullah  to  set  up  another  an- 
gerib,  saying  they  were  to  sleep  in  the  same  room,  Gordon's 
twinges  of  pride  and  qualms  of  conscience  were  swallowed 
up  in  one  great  wave  of  human  brotherhood. 

But  both  came  back  with  a  sudden  bound  when  Ishmael 
began  to  talk  of  his  wife,  and  to  send  the  servant  to  fetch 
her.  They  were  sitting  in  the  guest-room  by  this  time, 
waiting  for  the  lady  to  come  to  them,  and  Gordon  felt  him- 
self moved  by  the  inexplicable  impulse  of  anxiety  he  had  felt 
before.  Who  was  this  Mohammedan  woman  who  had 
prompted  Ishmael  to  a  scheme  that  must  so  surely  lead  to 
disaster?  Did  she  know  what  she  was  doing?  Was  she  be- 
traying him? 

Then  a  door  on  the  women's  side  of  the  house  opened 
slowly  and  he  saw  a  woman  enter  the  room.  He  did  not 
look  into  her  face.  His  distrust  of  her,  whereof  he  was 
now  half  ashamed,  made  him  keep  his  head  down  while  he 
bowed  low  during  the  little  formal  ceremony  of  Ishmael's 
presentation.  But  instantly  a  certain  indefinite  memory  of 
height  and  step  and  general  bearing  made  his  blood  flow  fast, 
and  he  felt  the  perspiration  breaking  out  on  his  forehead. 

A  moment  afterward  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  then  he  felt 
as  if  his  hair  rose  upright.  He  was  like  a  man  who  has 
been  made  colour-blind  by  some  bright  light.  He  could  not 
at  first  believe  the  evidence  of  his  senses — that  she  who  ap- 
peared to  be  there  was  actually  before  him. 

He  did  not  speak  or  utter  a  sound,  but  his  embarrass- 
ment was  not  observed  by  Ishmael,  who  was  clapping  his 
hands  to  call  for  food.  During  the  next  few  minutes  there 
was  a  little  confusion  in  the  room — Black  Zogal  and  Ab- 
dullah were  laying  a  big  brass  tray  on  trestles  and  cover- 
ing it  with  dishes.    Then  came  the  ablutions  and  the  sitting 


316  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

down  to  eat — Gordon  at  the  head  of  the  table,  with  Ishmael 
on  his  right  and  old  Mahmud  on  his  left,  and  Helena  next 
to  Ishmael. 

The  meal  began  with  the  beautiful  Eastern  custom  of 
the  host  handing  the  first  mouthful  of  food  to  his  guest  as  a 
pledge  of  peace  and  brotherhood,  faith  and  trust.  This  kept 
Gordon  occupied  for  the  moment,  but  Helena  had  time  for 
observation.  In  the  midst  of  her  agitation  she  could  not  help 
seeing  that  Gordon  had  grown  thinner,  that  his  eyes  were 
bloodshot  and  his  nostrils  pinched  as  if  by  physical  or  moral 
suffering.  After  a  while  she  saw  that  he  was  looking  across 
at  her  with  increasing  eagerness,  and  under  his  glances  she 
became  nervous  and  almost  hysterical. 

Gordon  on  his  part  had  now  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt 
of  Helena's  identity,  but  still  he  did  not  speak.  He,  too, 
noticed  a  change — Helena's  profile  had  grown  more  severe, 
and  there  were  dark  rims  under  her  large  eyes.  He  could 
not  help  seeing  these  signs  of  the  pain  she  had  gone  through, 
though  his  mind  was  going  like  a  windmill  under  constantly 
changing  winds.  Why  was  she  there?  Could  it  be  that  the 
great  sorrow  which  fell  upon  her  at  the  death  of  her  father 
had  made  her  fly  to  the  consolation  of  religion? 

He  dismissed  that  thought  the  instant  it  came  to  him, 
for  behind  it,  close  behind  it,  came  the  recollection  of  He- 
lena's hatred  of  Ishmael  Ameer  and  of  the  jealousy  which 
had  been  the  first  cause  of  the  separation  between  them- 
selves. "  Smash  the  Mahdi !  "  she  had  said,  not  altogether 
in  play.  Then  why  was  she  there?  Great  God,  could  it  be 
possible — that  after  the  death  of  the  General — she  had 

Gordon  felt  at  that  moment  as  if  the  world  were  reeling 
round  him. 

Helena,  glancing  furtively  across  the  table,  was  sure  she 
could  read  Gordon's  thoughts.  W^ith  the  certainty  that  he 
knew  what  had  brought  her  to  Khartoum,  she  felt  at  first 
a  crushing  sense  of  shame.  What  a  fatality!  If  anybody 
had  told  her  that  she  would  be  overwhelmed  with  confusion 
by  the  very  person  she  had  been  trying  to  avenge,  she  would 
have  thought  him  mad,  yet  that  was  precisely  what  Provi- 
dence had  permitted  to  come  to  pass. 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  317 

The  sense  of  her  blindness  and  helplessness  in  the  hands 
of  destiny  was  so  painful  as  to  reach  the  point  of  tears. 
When  Gordon  spoke  in  reply  to  Ishmael's  or  old  Mahmud's 
questions  the  very  sound  of  his  voice  brought  back  mem- 
ories of  their  happy  days  together,  and,  looking  back  on  the 
past  of  their  lives  and  thinking  where  they  were  now,  she 
wanted  to  run  away  and  cry. 

All  this  time  Ishmael  saw  nothing,  for  he  was  talking 
rapturously  of  the  great  hope,  the  great  expectation,  the 
near  approach  of  the  time  when  the  people's  sufferings  would 
end.  A  sort  of  radiance  was  about  him,  and  his  face  shone 
with  the  joy  and  the  majesty  of  the  dreamer  in  the  full 
flood  of  his  dream. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  the  old  man,  who  had  been  too 
busy  with  his  food  to  see  anything  else,  went  off  to  his 
siesta,  and  then,  the  dishes  being  removed  and  the  servants 
gone,  Ishmael  talked  in  lower  tones  of  the  details  of  his 
scheme — how  he  was  to  go  into  Cairo  in  advance,  in  the 
habit  of  a  Bedouin  such  as  Gordon  wore,  in  order  to  win 
the  confidence  of  the  Egyptian  Army,  so  that  they  should 
throw  down  the  arms  which  no  man  ought  to  bear,  and  thus 
permit  the  people  of  the  pilgrimage,  coming  behind,  to  take 
possession  of  the  city,  the  citadel,  the  arsenal,  and  the  en- 
gines of  war,  in  the  name  of  God  and  His  Expected  One. 

All  this  he  poured  out  in  the  rapturous  language  of  one 
who  saw  no  impediments,  no  dangers,  no  perils  from  chance 
or  treachery,  and  then,  turning  to  where  Helena  sat  with 
her  face  aflame  and  her  eyes  cast  down,  he  gave  her  the 
credit  of  everything  that  had  been  thought  of,  everything 
that  was  to  be  done. 

"  Yes,  it  was  the  Rani  who  suggested  it,"  he  said ;  "  and 
when  the  triumph  of  peace  is  won,  God  will  write  it  on  her 
forehead." 

The  afternoon  had  passed  by  this  time,  and  the  sun, 
which  had  gone  far  round  to  the  west,  was  glistening  like 
hammered  gold  along  the  river,  in  the  line  of  the  forts  of 
Omdurman.  It  was  near  to  the  hour  for  evening  prayers, 
and  Helena  was  now  trembling  under  a  new  thought — the 
thought  that  Ishmael  would  soon  be  called  out  to  speak  to 


o 


18  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


the  people  who  gathered  in  the  evening  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  then  she  and  Gordon  would  be  left  alone. 

When  she  thought  of  that  she  felt  a  desire  which  she 
had  never  felt  before  and  never  expected  to  feel — a  desire 
that  Ishmael  might  remain  to  protect  her  from  the  shock 
of  the  first  word  that  would  be  spoken  when  he  was  gone. 

Gordon  on  his  part,  too,  was  feeling  a  thrill  of  the  heart 
from  his  fear  of  the  truth  that  must  fall  on  him  the  mo- 
ment he  and  Helena  were  left  together. 

But  Black  Zogal  came  to  the  open  door  of  the  guest- 
room, and  Ishmael,  who  was  still  on  the  heights  of  his 
fanatical  rapture,  rose  to  go. 

"  Talk  to  him,  Eani !  Tell  him  everything !  About  the 
kufiah  you  intend  to  make,  and  all  the  good  plan  you  pro- 
pose to  prevent  bloodshed." 

The  two  unhappy  souls,  still  sitting  at  the  empty  table, 
heard  his  sandalled  footsteps  pass  out  behind  them. 

Then  they  raised  their  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  looked 
into  each  other's  faces. 


XIII 

When  they  began  to  speak  it  was  in  scarcely  audible 
whispers : 

"  Helena !  " 

"  Gordon !  " 

"Why  are  you  here,  Helena?  What  have  you  come  for? 
You  disliked  and  distrusted  Ishmael  Ameer  when  you  heard 
about  him  first.  You  used  to  say  you  hated  him.  What 
does  it  all  mean? " 

Helena  did  not  answer  immediately. 

"  Tell  me,  Helena.  Don't  let  me  go  on  thinking  these 
cruel  thoughts.  Why  are  you  here  with  Ishmael  in  Khar- 
toum?" 

Still  Helena  did  not  answer.  She  was  now  sitting  with 
her  eyes  down,  and  her  hands  tightly  folded  in  her  lap. 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence  while  he  waited  for  her  to 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  319 

speak,  and  in  that  silence  there  came  the  muffled  sound  of 
Ishmael's  voice  outside,  reciting  the  Fatihah : 

"Praise  be  to  God,  the  Lord  of  all  creatures " 

When  the  whole  body  of  the  people  had  repeated  the  sol- 
emn words  there  was  silence  in  the  guest-room  again,  and 
then,  in  the  same  hushed  whisper  as  before,  but  more  eagerly, 
more  impetuously,  Gordon  said: 

"  He  says  you  put  this  scheme  into  his  mind,  Helena. 
If  so,  you  must  know  quite  well  what  it  will  lead  to.  It 
will  lead  to  ruin — inevitable  ruin — bloodshed — perhaps  great 
bloodshed." 

Helena  found  her  voice  at  last.  A  spirit  of  defiance 
took  possession  of  her  for  a  moment,  and  she  said  firmly.: 

"  Ko,  it  will  never  come  to  that.  It  will  all  end  before 
it  goes  so  far." 

"You  mean  that  he  will  be — will  be  taken?  ^^ 

"  Yes,  he  will  be  taken  the  moment  he  sets  foot  in  Cairo. 
Therefore  the  rest  of  the  plan  will  never  be  carried  out, 
and  consequently  there  will  be  no  bloodshed." 

"Do  you  know  that,  Helena?" 

Her  lips  were  compressed;  she  made  a  silent  motion 
of  her  head. 

"  How  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  written  to  your  father." 

"You  have — written — to  my  father?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  still  more  firmly.  "  He  will  know 
everything  before  Ishmael  arrives,  and  act  as  he  thinks 
best." 

"  Helena !     Hel " 

But  he  was  struck  breathless  both  by  what  she  said  and 
by  the  relentless  strength  with  which  she  said  it.  There 
was  silence  again  for  some  moments,  and  once  more  in  the 
silence  the  voice  of  Ishmael  came  from  without: 

"  There  are  three  holy  books,  oh,  my  brothers — the  book  of 
Moses  and  the  Hebrew  prophets ;  the  book  of  the  Gospel 
of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  the  plain  book  of  the  Koran.  In 
the  first  of  these  it  is  written :  '  I  know  that  my  Kedeemer 
liveth  and  that  he  shall  stand  at  the  latter  day  upon  the 
earth.' " 


320  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Gordon  reached  over  to  -where  Helena  sat  at  the  side  of 
the  table,  with  her  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  before  her,  and, 
touching  her  arm,  he  said  in  a  whisper  so  low  that  he 
seemed  to  be  afraid  the  very  air  would  hear: 

"  Then — then — you  are  sending  him  to  his  death!''' 

She  shuddered  for  an  instant,  as  if  cut  to  the  quick; 
then  she  braced  herself  up. 

"  Isn't  that  so,  Helena  ?    Isn't  it  ?  " 

With  her  lips  still  firmly  compressed  she  made  the  same 
silent  motion  of  her  head. 

"  Is  that  what  you  came  here  to  do  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  To  possess  yourself  of  his  secrets,  and  then " 

"  There  was  no  other  way,"  she  answered,  biting  her 
under  lip. 

"  Helena !  Can  it  be  possible  that  you  have  deliber- 
ately " 

He  stopped,  as  if  afraid  to  utter  the  word  that  was 
trembling  on  his  tongue,  and  then  said,  in  a  softer  voice : 

"  But  why,  Helena  ?     Why  ?  " 

The  spirit  of  defiance  took  possession  of  her  again,  and 
she  said: 

"  Wasn't  it  enough  that  he  came  between  you  and  me, 
and  that  our  love " 

"  Love !  Helena  !  Helena !  Can  you  talk  of  our  love 
here — now?  " 

She  dropped  her  head  before  his  flashing  eyes,  and  again 
he  reached  over  to  her  and  said,  in  the  same  breathless 
whisper : 

"  Is  this  love — for  me — to  become  the  wife  of  another 
man —    Helena,  what  are  you  saying?" 

She  did  not  speak;  only  her  hard  breathing  told  how 
much  she  suflFered. 

"  Then  think  of  the  other  man !  His  wife !  When  a 
woman  becomes  a  man's  wife  they  are  one.  And  to  marry 
a  man  in  order  to — to —  Oh,  it  is  impossible!  I  cannot 
believe  it  of  you,  Helena !  " 

Suddenly,  without  warning,  she  burst  into  tears,  for 
something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  rather  than  the  strength 


[Page  208.  J 
•••Piini>li  liiiii,  O  God,   punisli  liiiu  !   puuisli  him  I ' " 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  321 

of  his  words,  had  made  her  feel  the  shame  of  the  position 
she  occupied  in  his  eyes. 

After  a  moment  she  recovered  herself,  and,  in  wild  anger 
at  her  own  weakness,  she  flamed  out  at  him,  saying  that  if 
she  was  Ishmael's  wife  it  was  in  name  only;  that  if  she  had 
married  Ishmael  it  was  only  as  a  matter  of  form,  at  best  a 
betrothal,  in  order  to  meet  his  own  wish  and  to  make  it 
possible  for  her  to  go  on  with  her  purpose. 

"  As  for  love — our  love — it  is  not  I  who  have  been  false 
to  it.  No,  never  for  one  single  moment — although — in  spite 
of  everything — for  even  when  you  were  gone — when  you 
had  abandoned  me — in  the  hour  of  my  trouble,  too — and  I 
had  lost  all  hope  of  you — I " 

"  Then  why,  Helena  ?  You  hated  Ishmael  and  wished  to 
put  him  down  while  you  thought  he  was  coming  between 
you  and  me.  But  why — when  all  seemed  to  be  over  be- 
tween us " 

Her  lips  were  twitching  and  her  eyes  were  ablaze. 

"  You  ask  me  why  I  wished  to  punish  him  ?  "  she  said. 
"  Very  well,  I  will  tell  you.  Because — "  she  paused,  hesi- 
tated, breathed  hard,  and  then  said,  "  because  he  killed  my 
father!" 

Gordon  gasped,  his  face  became  distorted,  his  lips  grew 
pale,  he  tried  to  speak,  but  could  only  stammer  out  broken 
exclamations. 

"Great  God!    Hele " 

"  Oh,  you  may  not  believe  it,  but  I  know,"  said  Helena. 

And  then,  with  a  rush  of  emotion,  in  a  torrent  of  hot 
words,  she  told  him  how  Ishmael  Ameer  had  been  the  last 
man  seen  in  her  father's  company;  how  she  had  seen  them 
together  and  they  were  quarrelling;  how  her  father  had 
been  found  dead  a  few  minutes  after  Ishmael  had  left  him; 
how  she  had  found  him ;  how  other  evidence  gave  proof, 
abundant  proof,  that  violence,  as  a  contributory  means  at 
least,  had  been  the  cause  of  her  father's  death;  and  how 
the  authorities  knew  this  perfectly,  but  were  afraid,  in  the 
absence  of  conclusive  evidence,  to  risk  a  charge  against  one 
whom  the  people  in  their  blindness  worshipped. 

"  So  I  was  left  alone — quite  alone — for  you  were  gone, 


322  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

too — and  therefore  I  vowed  that  if  there  was  no  one  else, 
1  would  punish  him !  " 

"  And  that  is  what  you " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  God !     Oh,  God !  " 

Gordon  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  being  made  speechless 
by  the  awful  strength  of  the  blind  force  which  had  gov- 
erned her  life  and  led  her  on  to  the  tragic  tangle  of  her 
error.  But  she  misunderstood  his  feeling,  and  with  flash- 
ing, almost  blazing,  eyes,  though  sobs  choked  her  voice  for 
a  moment,  she  turned  on  him  and  said : 

"  Why  not  ?  Think  of  what  my  father  had  been  to  me, 
and  say  if  I  was  not  justified.  Xobody  ever  loved  me  as 
he  did — nobody.  He  was  old,  too,  and  weak,  for  he  was  ill, 
though  nobody  knew  it.  And  then  this — this  barbarian — 
this  hypocritical —  Oh,  when  I  think  of  it  I  have  such  a 
feeling  of  physical  repulsion  for  the  man  that  I  can  scarcely 
sit  by  his  side !  " 

Saying  this  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and,  standing  before 
Gordon,  as  he  sat  w-ith  his  face  covered  by  his  hands,  she 
said  with  intense  bitterness,  as  if  exulting  in  the  righteous- 
ness of  her  vengeance : 

"  Let  him  go  to  Damietta,  or  to  death  itself,  if  need  be ! 
Doesn't  he  deserve  it?  Doesn't  he?  Uncover  your  face 
and  tell  me.     Tell  me  if — if — tell  me  if " 

She  w^as  approaching  Gordon  as  if  to  draw  away  his 
hands,  when  she  began  to  gasp  and  stammer  as  though  she 
had  experienced  a  sudden  electric  shock.  Her  eyes  had 
fallen  on  the  third  finger  of  his  left  hand,  and  they  fixed 
themselves  upon  it  with  the  fascination  of  fear.  She  saw 
that  it  was  shorter  than  the  rest,  and  that,  since  she  had 
seen  it  before,  it  had  been  injured  and  amputated. 

Her  breath,  which  had  been  labouring  heavily,  seemed  to 
stop  altogether,  and  there  was  silence  once  more  in  which 
the  voice  of  Ishmael  came  again : 

"  When  the  Deliverer  comes,  will  He  find  peace  on  the 
earth?  Will  He  find  war?  Will  He  find  corruption  and  the 
worship  of  false  gods?  Will  He  find  hatred  and  vengeance? 
Beware  of  vengeance,  oh,  my  brothers !    It  corrupts  the  heart; 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  323 

it  pulls  down  the  pillars  of  the  soul !  Vengeance  belongs  to 
God,  and  when  men  take  it  out  of  His  hands  He  writes 
black  marks  upon  their  faces." 

The  two  unhappy  people  sitting  together  in  the  guest- 
room seemed  to  hear  their  very  hearts  beat.  At  length  Gor- 
don, making  a  great  call  on  his  resolution,  began  to  speak: 

"  Helena !  " 

"\Yell?" 

"  It  is  all  a  mistake — a  fearful,  frightful  mistake." 

She  listened  without  drawing  breath — a  vague  foreshad- 
owing of  the  truth  coming  over  her. 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  did  not  kill  your  father." 

Her  lips  trembled  convulsively;  she  grew  paler  and  paler 
every  moment. 

"  I  know  he  did  not,  Helena,  because " — he  covered  his 
face  again — "  because  I  know  who  did." 

"  Then  who — who  was  it  ?  " 

"  He  did  not  intend  to  do  it,  Helena." 

"Who  was  it?" 

"  It  was  all  in  the  heat  of  blood." 

"Who  was " 

He  hesitated,  then  stammered  out :  "  Don't  you  see,  He- 
lena?— it  was  I." 

She  had  known  in  advance  what  he  was  going  to  say, 
but  not  until  he  had  said  it  did  the  whole  truth  fall  on 
her.  Then  in  a  moment  the  world  itself  seemed  to  reel. 
A  moral  earthquake,  upheaving  everything,  had  brought 
all  her  aims  to  ashes.  The  mighty  force  which  had  guided 
and  sustained  her  soul — the  sense  of  doing  a  necessary  and 
a  righteous  thing — had  collapsed  without  an  instant's  warn- 
ing. Another  force,  the  powerful,  almost  brutal  force  of 
fate,  had  broken  it  to  pieces. 

"My  God!  My  God!  What  has  become  of  me?"  she 
thought,  and  without  speaking  she  gazed  blankly  at  Gor- 
don as  he  sat  with  his  eyes  hidden  by  his  injured  hand. 

Then  in  broken  words,  with  gasps  of  breath,  he  told  her 
what  had  happened,  beginning  with  the  torture  of  his  sepa- 
ration from  her  at  the  door  of  the  General's  house. 

"  You   said  I  had   not   really  loved  you — that  you  had 


324  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

been  mistaken  and  were  punished,   and — and  that  was  the 
end." 

Going  away  with  the  memory  of  these  words  in  his  mind, 
his  wretched  soul  had  been  on  the  edge  of  a  vortex  of  mad- 
ness, in  which  all  its  anger,  all  its  hatred,  had  been  directed 
against  the  General.  In  the  blind  leading  of  his  passion, 
torn  to  the  heart's  core,  he  had  then  returned  to  the  Citadel 
to  accuse  the  General  of  injustice  and  tyranny. 

"  *  Helena  was  mine,'  I  said,  '  and  you  have  taken  her 
from  me,  and  broken  her  heart  as  well  as  my  own.  Is  that 
the  act  of  a  father  ? '  " 

Other  words  he  had  also  said  in  the  delirium  of  his  rage, 
mad  and  insulting  words  such  as  no  father  could  bear,  and 
then  the  General  had  snatched  up  the  broken  sword  from 
the  floor  and  fallen  on  him,  hacking  at  his  hand — see! 

"I  didn't  want  to  do  it,  God  knows  I  did  not,  for  he 
was  an  old  man  and  I  was  no  coward;  but  the  hot  blood 
was  in  my  head,  and  I  laid  hold  of  him  by  the  throat  to 
hold  him  off." 

He  uncovered  his  face — it  was  full  of  humility  and  pain. 

"  God  forgive  me,  I  didn't  know  my  strength.  I  flung 
him  away;  he  fell.  I  had  killed  him — my  General,  my 
friend !  " 

Tears  filled  his  eyes.  In  her  eyes  also  tears  were  gath- 
ering. 

"  Then  you  came  to  the  door  and  knocked.  '  Father ! ' 
you  said.  *  Are  you  alone  ?  May  1  come  in  ? '  Those  were 
your  words,  and  how  often  I  have  heard  them  since !  In 
the  middle  of  the  night,  in  my  dreams,  oh,  God,  how  many 
times !  " 

He  dropped  his  head  and  stretched  a  helpless  arm  along 
the  table. 

"  I  wanted  to  open  the  door  and  say,  '  Helena,  forgive 
me,  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it,  and  that  is  the  truth,  as  God 
is  my  witness ! '     But  I  was  afraid — I  fled  away." 

She  was  now  sitting  with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap 
and  her  eyelids  tightly  closed. 

"  Next  day  I  wanted  to  go  back  to  you,  but  I  dared  not 
do  so.     I  wanted  to  comfort  you—]   could  not.     I  wanted 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  325 

to  give  myself  up  to  justice — it  was  impossible.  There  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do  except  to  fly  away." 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  his  thin  face  to  his  pinched 
nostrils. 

"  But  I  could  not  fly  from  myself  or  from — from  my 
love  for  you.  They  told  me  you  had  gone  to  England. 
*  Where  is  she  to-night  ? '  I  thought.  If  I  had  never  really 
loved  you  before,  I  loved  you  now.  And  you  were  gone! 
I  had  lost  you  for  ever !  " 

Emotion  choked  his  voice;  tears  were  forcing  themselves 
through  her  closed  eyelids.  There  was  another  moment  of 
silence,  and  then  nervously,  hesitatingly,  she  put  out  her 
hand  to  where  his  hand  was  lying  on  the  table  and  clasped  it. 

The  two  unhappy  creatures,  like  wrecked  souls  about  to 
be  swallowed  up  in  a  tempestuous  ocean,  saw  one  raft  of 
hope — their  love  for  each  other,  which  had  survived  all  the 
storms  of  their  fate. 

But  just  as  their  hands  were  burning,  as  if  with  fever, 
and  quivering  in  each  other's  clasp,  like  the  bosom  of  a 
captured  bird,  a  voice  from  without  fell  on  their  ears  like 
a  trumpet  from  the  skies.  It  was  the  voice  of  the  muezzin 
calling  to  evening  prayers  from  the  minaret  of  the  neigh- 
bouring mosque: 


-^^r^ 


-(2- 


e 


:^-*- 


-(S^^^^s- 


-^-»- 


£tE^ 


V 


AL  -  LA    IIU  AK  -  BAR.  AL  -  LA    -     -      HU  AK-BAR. 

God  is  Most  Great!  God  is  Most  Great! 


It  seemed  to  be  a  supernatural  voice,  the  voice  of  an 
accusing  angel,  calling  them  back  to  their  present  position. 
Ishmael — Helena — the  betrothal ! 

Their  hands  separated  and  they  rose  to  their  feet.  One 
moment  they  stood  with  bowed  heads  at  opposite  sides  of 
the  table,  listening  to  the  voice  outside,  and  then,  without 
a  word  more,  they  went  their  different  ways — he  to  his  room, 
she  to  hers. 

Into  the  empty  guest-room  a  moment  afterward  came 
22 


326  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

the  rumbling  and  rolling  sound  of  the  voices  of  the  people 
repeating  the  Fatihah  after  Ishmael: 

"  Praise  be  to  God,  the  Lord  of  all  creatures !  .  .  .  Direct 
us  in  the  right  way,  0  Lord!  .  .  .  not  the  way  of  those 
who  go  astray." 


XIV 

That  day  the  Sirdar  had  held  his  secret  meeting  of  the 
Ulema,  the  Sheikhs  and  Rotables  of  lOiartoum.  Into  a 
room  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  Palace,  down  a  dark, 
arched  corridor,  in  which  British  soldiers  stood  on  guard, 
they  had  been  introduced  one  by  one — a  group  of  six  or 
eight  unkempt  creatures  of  varying  ages,  and  of  differing 
degrees  of  intelligence,  nearly  all  wearing  the  farageeyah, 
the  loose  gray  robe  as  of  a  Moslem  monk. 

They  sat  awkwardly  on  the  chairs  w^hich  had  been 
ranged  for  them  about  a  mahogany  table,  and  while  they 
waited  they  talked  in  whispers.  There  was  a  tense,  electri- 
cal atmosphere  among  them,  as  of  internal  dissension,  the 
rumbling  of  a  sort  of  subterranean  thunder. 

But  this  subsided  instantly,  when  the  voice  of  the  Ser- 
jeant outside,  and  the  clash  of  saluting  arms,  announced 
the  coming  of  the  Sirdar.  The  Governor-General,  who  was 
in  uniform  and  booted  and  spurred  as  if  returning  from 
a  ride,  was  accompanied  by  his  Inspector-General,  his  Fi- 
nancial Secretary,  the  Governor  of  the  town  and  various 
minor  officers. 

He  was  received  by  the  Sheikhs,  all  standing,  with 
sweeping  salaams  from  floor  to  forehead,  a  circle  of  smiles 
and  looks  of  complete  accord. 

The  Sirdar,  with  his  ruddy  and  cheerful  face,  took  his 
seat  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  began  by  asking,  as  if 
casually,  who  was  the  stranger  that  had  arrived  that  day 
in  Khartoum. 

"  A  Bedouin,"  said  the  Cadi.  "  One  whom  Ishmael  Ameer 
loves  and  Avho  loves  him." 

"Yet  a  Bedouin,  you  say?"  asked  the  Sirdar,  in  an  in- 


THE    LIGHT   OF   THE   WORLD  327 

credulous  tone,  and  with  a  certain  elevation  of  the  eye- 
brows. 

"  A  Bedouin,  O  Excellency ! "  repeated  the  Cadi,  where- 
upon the  others,  without  a  word  of  further  explanation, 
bent  their  turbaned  heads  in  assent. 

Then  the  Sirdar  explained  the  reason  for  which  he  had 
called  them  together. 

"  I  am  given  to  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  the  idea 
is  abroad  that  the  Government  has  been  trying  to  intro- 
duce changes  into  the  immutable  law  of  Islam,  which 
forms  an  integral  part  of  your  Moslem  religion  and  is 
therefore  rightly  regarded  with  a  high  degree  of  venera- 
tion by  all  followers  of  the  Prophet.  If  anybody  is  telling 
you  this,  or  if  any  one  is  saying  that  there  is  any  prejudice 
against  you  because  you  are  Mohammedans,  he  is  a  wicked 
and  mischievous  person,  and  I  beg  of  you  to  tell  me  who 
he  is." 

Saying  this,  the  Sirdar  looked  sharply  round  the  table, 
but  met  nothing  there  but  blank  and  expressionless  faces. 
Then  turning  to  the  Cadi,  who,  as  Chief  Judge  of  the  Mo- 
hammedan law-courts,  had  been  constituted  spokesman,  he 
asked  pointedly  what  Ishmael  Ameer  was  saying. 

"  Nothing,  O  Excellency ! "  said  the  Cadi ;  "  nothing 
that  is  contrary  to  the  Sharia — the  religious  law  of  Islam." 

"  Is  he  telling  the  people  to  resist  the  Government  ?  " 

The  grave  company  about  the  table  silently  shook  their 
heads. 

"  Do  you  know  if  he  has  anything  to  do  with  a  conspir- 
acy to  resist  the  payment  of  taxes  ? " 

The  grave  company  knew  nothing. 

"  Then  what  is  he  doing,  and  why  has  he  come  to  Kliar- 
toum?  Pasha,  have  you  no  explanation  to  make  to  me?" 
asked  the  Sirdar,  singling  out  a  vivacious  old  gentleman, 
with  a  short,  white,  carefully  oiled  beard — a  person  of 
doubtful  repute  who  had  once  been  a  slave-dealer  and  was 
now  living  patriarchally,  under  the  protection  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, with  his  many  wives  and  concubines. 

The  old  black  sinner  cast  his  little  glittering  eyes 
around  the  room  and  then  said : 


328  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  If  you  ask  nie,  O  ^Master,  I  say,  Ishmael  Ameer  is  put- 
ting down  polygamy  and  divorce  and  ought  himself  to  be 
put  down." 

At  that  there  was  some  clamour  among  the  Ulema,  and 
the  Sirdar  thought  he  saw  a  rift  through  which  he  might 
discover  the  truth,  but  the  Pasha  was  soon  silenced,  and  in  a 
moment  there  was  the  same  unanimity  as  before. 

"Then  what  is  he?"  asked  the  Sirdar.  Whereupon  a  ven- 
erable old  Sheikh,  after  the  usual  Arabic  compliments  and 
apologies,  said  that  having  seen  the  new  teacher  with  his 
own  eyes  and  talked  with  him,  he  had  now  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  Ishmael  was  a  man  sent  from  God,  and  there- 
fore that  all  who  resisted  him,  all  who  tried  to  put  him 
down,  would  perish  miserably. 

At  these  words  the  electrical  atmosphere  which  had  been 
held  in  subjection  seemed  to  burst  into  flame.  In  a  moment 
six  tongues  were  talking  together.  One  Sheikh,  with  wild 
eyes,  told  of  Islunael's  intercourse  with  angels.  Another 
knew  a  man  who  had  seen  him  riding  with  the  Prophet  in 
the  desert.  A  third  had  spoken  to  somebody  who  had  seen 
angels,  in  the  form  of  doves,  descending  upon  him  from 
the  skies,  and  a  fourth  was  ready  to  swear  that  one  day 
while  Ishmael  was  preaching  in  the  mosque  people  heard 
a  voice  from  heaven  crying,  "  Hear  him  I  He  is  my  mes- 
senger !  " 

"  W'hat  was  he  preaching  about?"  said  the  Sirdar. 

"  The  last  days,  the  coming  of  the  Deliverer,"  said  the 
Sheikh  with  the  wild  eyes,  in  an  awesome  whisper. 

"What  Deliverer?" 

"  The  Shaidna  Isa — the  Lord  Jesus — the  White  Christ 
that  is  to  come." 

"Is  this  to  be  soon?" 

"Soon,  O  Excellency!  very  soon." 

After  this  outburst  there  was  a  moment  of  tense  and 
breathless  silence,  during  which  the  Sirdar  sat  with  his 
serious  eyes  fixed  on  the  table,  and  his  officers,  standing 
behind,  glanced  at  each  other  and  smiled. 

A  moment  afterward  the  Sirdar  put  an  end  to  the 
interview. 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WOKLD  329 

"  Tell  your  people,"'  he  said,  "  that  the  Government 
has  no  wish  to  interfere  with  your  religious  beliefs  and 
feelings,  Avhatever  they  may  be;  but  tell  them  also,  that  it 
intends  to  have  its  orders  obej-ed,  and  that  any  suspicion 
of  conspiracy,  still  more  rebellion,  will  be  instantly  put 
down." 

The  group  of  unkempt  creatures  went  off  with  sweep- 
ing salaams,  and  then  the  Sirdar  dismissed  his  officers  also, 
saying : 

"  Bear  in  mind  that  you  are  the  recognized  agents  of  a 
just  and  merciful  Government,  and  whatever^your  personal 
opinions  may  be  of  these  Arabs  and  their  superstitions, 
please  understand  that  you  are  to  give  no  anti-Islamic  colour 
to  your  British  feelings.  At  the  same  time  remember  that 
we  have  worked  for  the  redemption  of  the  Soudan  from  a 
state  of  savagery,  and  we  cannot  allow  it  to  be  turned  back  to 
barbarism  in  the  name  of  religion." 

Both  the  Ulema  and  the  other  British  officials  being 
gone,  the  Sirdar  was  alone  with  his  Inspector-General. 

"Well?"  he  said. 

"Well?"  repeated  the  Inspector-General,  biting  the 
ends  of  his  close-cropped  mustache.  "  What  more  did  you 
expect,  sir?  Naturally  the  man's  own  people  were  not 
going  to  give  him  away.  They  nearly  did  so,  though.  You 
heard  what  old  Zewar  Pasha  said?" 

"  Tut !  I  take  no  account  of  that,"  said  the  Sirdar. 
"  The  brothers  of  Christ  Himself  would  have  put  Him  down, 
too — locked  Him  up  in  an  asylum,  I  dare  say." 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  would  do  with  Ishmael  Ameer 
anyway,"  said  the  Inspector-General.  "  Of  course  he  per- 
forms no  miracles,  and  is  attended  by  no  angels.  His  re- 
moval to  Torah,  and  his  inability  to  free  himself  from  a 
government  jail,  would  soon  dispel  the  belief  in  his  super- 
natural agencies." 

"  But  how  can  we  do  it  ?  Under  what  pretext  ?  We 
can't  imprison  a  man  for  preaching  the  second  coming  of 
Christ.  If  we  did,  our  jails  would  be  pretty  full  at  home, 
I'm  thinking." 

The  Inspector-General  laughed.    "  Your  old  error,  dear 


330  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Sirdar.  You  can't  apply  the  same  principles  to  East  and 
West." 

"  And  your  old  Parliamentary  cant,  dear  Pasha !  I'm 
sick  to  death  of  it." 

There  was  a  moment  of  strained  silence  and  then  the 
Inspector-General  said : 

"  Ah,  well,  I  know  these  holy  men,  with  their  sham  inspi- 
rations and  their  so-called  heavenly  messages.  They  de- 
velop bj-  degrees,  sir.  This  one  has  begun  by  proclaiming 
the  advent  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  he  will  end  by  hoisting 
a  flag  and  claiming  to  be  the  Lord  Jesus  himself." 

"  When  he  does  that,  Colonel,  we'll  consider  our  position 
afresh.  Meantime  it  may  do  us  no  mischief  to  remember 
that  if  the  family  of  Jesus  could  have  dealt  with  the 
Founder  of  our  own  religion  as  you  would  deal  with  this 
olive-faced  Arab,  there  would  probably  be  no  Christianity 
in  the  world  to-day." 

The  Inspector-General  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  rose 
to  go. 

"  Good-night,  sir." 

"  Good-night,  Colonel,"  said  the  Sirdar,  and  then  he  sat 
down  to  draft  a  despatch  to  the  Consul-General: 

"  Nothing  to  report  since  the  marriage,  betrothal,  or 
whatever  it  was,  of  the  '  Rani '  to  the  man  in  question. 
Undoubtedly  he  is  laying  a  strong  hold  on  the  imagination 
of  the  natives  and  acquiring  the  allegiance  of  large  bodies 
of  workers;  but  I  cannot  connect  him  with  any  conspiracy 
to  persuade  people  not  to  pay  taxes  or  with  any  organised 
scheme  that  is  frankly  hostile  to  the  continuance  of  Brit- 
ish rule. 

"  Will  continue  to  watch  him,  but  find  myself  at  fear- 
ful odds  owing  to  difference  of  faith.  It  is  one  of  the  dis- 
advantages of  Christian  governments  among  people  of  alien 
race  and  religion  that  methods  of  revolt  are  not  always 
visible  to  the  naked  eye,  and  God  knows  what  is  going  on 
in  the  sealed  chambers  of  the  mosque. 

"  That  only  shows  the  danger  of  curtailing  the  liberty 
of  the  vernacular  press,  whatever  the  violence  of  its  spo- 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  331 

radic  and  muddled  anarchy.  Leave  the  press  alone,  I  say. 
Instead  of  chloroforming  it  into  silence  give  it  a  tonic  if 
need  be,  or  you  drive  your  trouble  underground.  Such  is 
the  common  sense  and  practical  wisdom  of  how  to  deal 
with  sedition  in  a  Mohammedan  country,  let  some  of  the 
logger-headed  dunces  who  write  leading  articles  in  Eng- 
land say  what  they  will. 

"  If  this  man  should  develop  supernatural  pretensions 
I  shall  know  what  to  do.  And  withovit  that,  whether  he 
claim  divine  inspiration  or  not,  if  his  people  should  come 
to  regard  him  as  divine,  the  very  name  and  idea  of  his 
divinity  may  become  a  danger  and  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  put  him  under  arrest." 

Then  remembering  that  he  was  addressing  not  only  the 
Consul-General,  but  a  friend,  the  Sirdar  wrote: 

"'Art  Thou  a  King?'  Strange  that  the  question  of 
Pontius  Pilate  is  precisely  what  we  may  find  in  our  own 
mouths  soon!  And  stranger  still,  almost  ludicrous,  even 
farcical  and  hideously  ironical,  that  though  for  two  thou- 
sand years  Christendom  has  been  spitting  on  the  pusillan- 
imity of  the  old  pagan,  the  representative  of  a  Christian 
Empire  will  have  to  do  precisely  what  he  did. 

"  Short  of  Pilate's  situation,  though,  I  see  no  right  to 
take  this  man,  so  I  am  not  taking  him.  Sorry  to  tell  you 
so,  but  I  cannot  help  it. 

"  Our  love  from  both  to  both.  Trust  Janet  is  feeling 
better.    No  news  of  our  poor  boy,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Our  boy  "  had  for  thirty  years  been  another  name  for 
Gordon. 


XV 

Gra%t  as  was  the  gathering  in  the  Sirdar's  Palace  at 
Khartoum  there  was  a  still  graver  gathering  that  day  in 
the  British  Agency  at  Cairo — the  gathering  of  the  wings 
of  Death. 

Lady  Nuneham  was  nearing  her  end.     Since  Gordon's 


332  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

disgrace  and  disappearance  she  had  been  visibly  fading 
away  under  a  burden  too  heavy  for  her  to  bear. 

The  Consul-General  had  been  trying  hard  to  shut  his 
eyes  to  this  fact.  More  than  ever  before  he  had  immersed 
himself  in  his  work,  being  plainly  impelled  to  fresh  effort 
by  hatred  of  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  his  son. 

Through  the  Soudan  Intelligence  Department  in  Cairo 
he  had  watched  Ishmael's  movements  in  Khartoum,  expect- 
ing him  to  develop  the  traits  of  the  Mahdi  and  thus  throw 
himself  into  the  hands  of  the  Sirdar. 

It  was  a  deep  disappointment  to  the  Consul-General 
that  this  did  not  occur.  The  same  report  came  to  him 
again  and  again.  The  man  was  doing  nothing  to  justify 
his  arrest.  Although  surrounded  by  fanatical  folk  whose 
minds  were  easily  inflamed,  he  was  not  trying  to  upset 
Governors  or  giving  divine  sanction  for  the  removal  of 
officials. 

But  meantime  some  mischief  was  manifestly  at  work 
all  over  the  country.  From  day  to  day  Inspectors  had 
been  coming  in  to  say  that  the  people  were  not  paying 
their  taxes.  Convinced  that  this  was  the  result  of  con- 
spiracy the  Consul-General  had  shown  no  mercy. 

"  Sell  them  up,"  he  had  said,  and  the  Inspectors,  taking 
their  cue  from  his  owti  spirit  but  exceeding  his  orders,  had 
done  his  work  without  remorse. 

Week  by  week  the  trouble  had  deepened,  and  when  dis- 
turbances had  been  threatened  he  had  asked  the  British 
Army  of  Occupation,  meaning  no  violence,  to  go  out  into 
the  country  and  show  the  people  England's  power. 

Then  grumblings  had  come  down  on  him  from  the  rep- 
resentatives of  foreign  nations.  If  the  people  were  so  dis- 
contented with  British  rule  that  they  were  refusing  to  pay 
their  taxes  there  would  be  a  deficit  in  the  Egyptian  treas- 
ury— how  then  were  Egypt's  creditors  to  be  paid? 

"  Time  enough  to  cross  the  bridge  when  you  come  to  it, 
gentlemen,"  said  the  Consul-General,  in  his  stinging  tone 
and  with  a  curl  of  his  iron  lip. 

If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst  England  would  pay,  but 
England  should  not  be  asked  to  do  so,  because  Egypt  must 


I 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  333 

meet  the  cost  of  her  own  Government.  Hence  more  dis- 
training and  some  inevitable  violence  in  suppressing  the 
riots  that  resulted  from  evictions. 

Finally  came  a  hubbub  in  Parliament,  with  the  cus- 
tomary "  Christian "  prattlers  prating  again.  Fools ! 
They  did  not  know  what  a  subtle  and  secret  conspiracy  he 
had  to  deal  with  while  they  were  crying  out  against  his 
means  of  killing  it. 

He  must  kill  it !  This  form  of  passive  resistance,  this 
attack  on  the  Treasury,  was  the  deadliest  blow  that  had 
ever  yet  been  aimed  at  England's  power  in  Egypt. 

But  he  must  not  let  Europe  see  it !  He  must  make  be- 
lieve that  nothing  was  happening  to  occasion  the  least 
alarm.  Therefore  to  drown  the  cries  of  the  people  who 
were  suffering,  not  because  they  were  poor  and  could  not 
pay,  but  because  they  were  perverse  and  would  not,  he  must 
organise  some  immense  demonstration. 

Thus  came   to   the  Consul-General  the   schemes   of  the 

great    festival    of   the    th    anniversary    of    the   British 

occupation  of  Egypt.  It  would  do  good  to  foreign  pow- 
ers, for  it  would  make  them  feel  that,  not  for  the  first  time, 
England  had  been  the  torch-bearer  of  light  in  a  dark  coun- 
try. It  would  do  good  to  the  Egyptians,  too,  for  it  would 
force  their  youngsters  (born  since  Tel-el-Kebir)  to  realise 
the  strength  of  England's  arm. 

Thus  had  the  Consul-General  occupied  himself  while  his 
wife  was  fading  away.  But  at  length  he  had  been  compelled 
to  see  that  the  end  was  near,  and  toward  the  close  of  every 
day  he  had  gone  to  her  room  and  sat  almost  in  silence,  with 
bowled  head,  in  the  chair  by  her  side. 

The  great  man  who  for  forty  years  had  been  the  virtual 
ruler  of  countless  millions,  had  no  wisdom  that  told  him 
what  to  say  to  a  dying  woman;  but  at  last,  seeing  that  her 
pallor  had  become  whiteness,  and  that  she  was  sinking  rap- 
idly and  hungering  for  the  consolations  of  her  religion,  he 
asked  her  if  she  would  like  to  take  the  sacrament. 

"  It  is  just  what  I  wish,  dear,"  she  answered,  with  the 
nervous  smile  of  one  who  had  been  afraid  to  ask. 

At  heart  the  Consul-General  had  been  an  agnostic  all 
23 


334  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

his  life,  looking  upon  religion  as  no  better  than  a  civilising 
superstition,  but  all  the  same  he  went  downstairs  and  sent 
one  of  his  Secretaries  for  the  Chaplain  of  St.  Mary's — the 
English  Church. 

The  moment  he  had  gone  out  of  the  door  Fatimah, 
under  the  direction  of  the  dying  woman,  began  to  pre- 
pare the  bedroom  for  the  reception  of  the  clergyman 
by  laying  a  side-table  with  a  fair  white  cloth,  a  large 
prayer-book,  and  two  silver  candlesticks  containing  new 
candles. 

While  the  Egyptian  nurse  did  this  the  old  lady  looked 
on  with  her  deep,  slow,  weary  eyes,  and  talked  in  whispers, 
as  if  the  wings  of  the  august  Presence  that  was  soon  to 
come  were  already  rustling  in  the  room.  When  all  was 
done  she  looked  very  happy. 

"  Everything  is  nice  and  comfortable  now,"  she  said,  as 
she  lay  back  to  wait  for  the  clergyman. 

But  even  then  she  could  not  help  thinking  the  one 
thought  that  made  a  tug  at  her  resignation.  It  was  about 
Gordon. 

"  I  am  quite  ready  to  die,  Fatimah,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
should  have  loved  to  see  my  dear  Gordon  once  more." 

This  was  what  she  had  been  waiting  for,  praying  for, 
eating  her  heart  and  her  life  out  for, 

"  Only  to  see  and  kiss  my  boy !  It  would  have  been  so 
easy  to  go  then." 

Fatimah,  who  was  snuffling  audibly,  as  she  straightened 
the  eiderdown  coverlet  over  the  bod,  began  to  hint  that  if 
her  "  sweet  eyes  "  could  not  see  her  son  she  could  send  him 
a  message. 

"  Perhaps  I  know  somebody  who  could  see  it  reaches 
him,  too,"  said  Fatimah,  in  a  husky  whisper. 

The  old  lady  understood  her  instantly. 

"  You  mean  Ilafiz !  I  always  thought  as  much.  Bring 
me  my  writing-case,  quick !  " 

The  writing-case  was  brought  and  laid  open  before  her, 
and  she  made  some  effort  to  write  a  letter,  but  the  power 
of  life  was  low  in  her,  and  after  a  moment  the  shaking  pen 
dropped  from  her  fingers. 


THE    LIGHT   OF    THE    WORLD  335 

" Ma^aleysh,  my  lady!"  said  Fatimah  soothingly.  "Tell 
me  what  you  wish  to  say.    I  will  remember  everything." 

Then  the  dying  mother  sent  a  few  touching  words  as  her 
last  message  to  her  beloved  son. 

"  Wait !  Let  me  think.  My  head  is  a  little — ^just  a  lit- 
tle—  Yes,  this  is  what  I  wish  to  say,  Fatimah.  Tell  my 
boy  that  my  last  thoughts  were  about  him.  Though  I  am. 
sorry  he  took  the  side  of  the  false  prophet,  say  I  am  certain 
he  did  what  he  thought  was  right.  Be  sure  you  tell  him  I 
die  happy,  because  I  know  I  shall  see  him  again.  If  I  am 
never  to  see  him  in  this  world  I  will  do  so  in  the  world  to 
come.  Say  I  shall  be  waiting  for  him  there.  And  tell  him. 
it  will  not  seem  long." 

"Could  you  sign  your  name  for  him,  my  heart?"  said 
Fatimah,  in  her  husky  voice. 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,  easily,"  said  the  old  lady,  and  then  with 
an  awful  effort  she  wrote : 

"  Your  ever-loving  Mother." 

At  that  moment  Ibrahim  in  his  green  caftan,  carrying- 
a  small  black  bag,  brought  the  English  Chaplain  into  the 
room. 

"  Peace  be  to  this  house,"  said  the  clergyman,  iising  the 
words  of  his  Church  ritual,  and  the  Egyptian  nurse,  think- 
ing it  was  an  Eastern  salutation,  answered,  "  Peace !  " 

The  Chaplain  went  into  the  "  boys'  room  "  to  put  on  his 
surplice,  and  when  he  came  out  of  it  robed  in  white,  and 
began  to  light  the  candles  and  prepare  the  vessels  which  he 
placed  on  the  side-table,  the  old  lady  was  talking  to  Fa- 
timah in  nervous  w'hispers : 

"  His  lordship  ?  "    "  Yes !  "    "  Do  you  think,  my  lady " 

She  wanted  the  Consul-General  to  be  present  and 
was  half  afraid  to  send  for  him;  but  just  at  that  in- 
stant the  door  opened  again,  and  her  pale,  spiritual  face 
lit  up  with  a  smile  as  she  saw  her  husband  come  into  the 
room. 

The  clergyman  was  now  ready  to  begin,  and  the  old 
lady  looked  timidly  across  the  bed  at  the  Consul-General, 
as  if  there  were  something  she  wished  to  ask  and  dare  not. 

"  Yes,  I  will  take  the  sacrament  with  you,  Janet,"  said 


336  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

the  old  man,  and  then  the  old  lady's  face  shone  like  the 
face  of  an  angel. 

The  Consul-General  took  the  chair  by  the  side  of  the 
bed  and  the  chaplain  began  the  service: 

"  Almighty,  ever-living  God,  Maker  of  mankind.  Who 
dost  correct  those  Thou  dost  love " 

All  the  time  the  tremendous  words  reverberated 
through  the  room  the  dying  woman  was  praying  fervently, 
her  liiJS  moving  to  her  unspoken  words  and  her  eyes  shin- 
ing as  if  the  Lord  of  Life  she  had  always  loved  was  with 
her  now  and  she  was  giving  herself  to  Him — her  soul,  her  all. 

The  Consul-General  was  praying,  too — praying  for  the 
first  time  to  the  God  he  did  not  know  and  had  never 
looked  to : 

"  If  Thou  art  God,  let  her  die  in  peace.  It  is  all  I  ask 
—all  I  wish." 

Thus  the  two  old  people  took  the  sacrament  together, 
and  when  the  Communion  Service  came  to  a  close,  the  old 
lady  looked  again  at  the  Consul-General  and  asked,  with  a 
little  confusion,  if  they  might  sing  a  hymn. 

The  old  man  bent  his  head,  and  a  moment  later  the 
■Chaplain,  after  a  whispered  word  from  the  dying  woman, 
began  to  sing: 

"  Sun  of  my  soul,  Thou  Saviour  clear, 
It  is  not  night  if  Thou  be  near  .  .  ." 

At  the  second  bar  the  old  lady  joined  him  in  her  break- 
ing, cracking  voice,  and  then  the  Consul-General,  too, 
albeit  his  throat  was  choking  him,  forced  himself  to  sing 
"v\'ith  her. 

"  ^^'hen  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  weaned  eyelids  gently  steep  .  .  ." 

It  was  as  much  as  the  Consul-General  could  do  to  sing 
•of  a  faith  he  did  not  feel,  but  he  felt  tenderly  to  it  for  his 
-wife's  sake  now,  and  with  a  great  effort  he  went  on  with 
Ler  to  the  end : 

"  If  some  poor  wandering  child  of  thine 
Have  spurned  to-day  the  voice  divine  .  .  ." 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  337 

The  light  of  another  -world  was  in  the  old  lady's  eyes 
when  all  was  over,  and  she  seemed  to  be  already  halfway 
to  heaven. 

XVI 

All  the  same  there  was  a  sweet  humanity  left  in  her, 
too,  and  when  the  Chaplain  was  gone  and  the  side-table 
had  been  cleared,  and  she  was  left  alone  with  her  old  hus- 
band, there  came  little  gleams  of  the  woman  who  wanted 
to  be  loved  to  the  last. 

"  How  are  you  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Better,  so  much  better,"  she  said,  smiling  upon  him, 
and  caressing  with  her  wrinkled  hand  the  other  wrinkled 
hand  that  lay  on  the  eiderdown  quilt. 

The  great  Consul-General,  sitting  on  the  chair  by  the 
side  of  the  bed,  felt  as  helpless  as  before,  as  ignorant  as 
ever  of  what  millions  of  simple  people  know — how  to  talk 
to  those  they  love  when  the  wings  of  death  are  hovering 
over  them;  but  the  sweet  old  lady,  with  the  wisdom  and  the 
courage  which  God  gives  to  His  own  on  the  verge  of  eter- 
nity, began  to  speak  in  a  lively  and  natural  voice  of  the 
end  that  was  coming  and  w^iat  was  to  follow  it. 

He  was  not  to  allow  any  of  his  arrangements  to  be  in- 
terfered with,  and,  above  all,  the  festivities  appointed  for 
the  King's  Birthday  were  not  to  be  disturbed. 

"  They  must  be  necessary  or  you  would  not  have  them, 
especially  now,"  she  said,  "  and  I  shall  not  be  happy  if  I 
know  that  on  my  account  they  are  not  coming  off." 

And  then,  with  the  sweet  childishness  which  the  feeble- 
ness of  illness  brings,  she  talked  of  the  last  King's  Birth- 
day, and  of  the  ball  they  had  given  in  honour  of  it. 

That  had  been  in  their  own  hoiise,  and  the  dancing  had 
been  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  Consul-General  had  told 
Ibrahim  to  set  the  big  green  arm-chair  for  her  in  the  al- 
cove, and  sitting  there  she  had  seen  everything.  What  a 
spectacle!  Such  gorgeous  uniforms!  Such  glittering  or- 
ders! Such  beautiful  toilettes!  Ministers  Plenipotentiary, 
Egyptian  Ministers,  ladies,  soldiers! 


338  THE    \^TIITE    PROPHET 

The  old  lady's  pale  face  filled  with  light  as  she  thought 
of  all  this,  but  the  Consul-General  dropped  his  head,  for 
he  knew  well  what  was  coming  next. 

'*  And,  John,  don't  you  remember?  Gordon  was  there 
that  night,  and  Helena — dear  Helena!  How  lovely  they 
looked!  Among  all  those  lovely  people,  dear.  He  was 
wearing  every  one  of  his  medals  that  night,  you  know.  So 
tall,  so  brave-looking,  a  soldier  every  inch  of  him,  and  such 
a  perfect  English  gentleman!  Was  there  ever  anything  in 
the  world  so  beautiful?  And  Helena,  too!  She  wore  a 
silvery  silk,  and  a  kind  of  coif  on  her  beautiful  black  hair. 
Oh,  she  was  the  loveliest  thing  in  all  the  room,  I  thought! 
And  when  they  led  the  cotillon — don't  you  remember  they 
led  the  cotillon,  dear? — I  could  have  cried,  I  was  so  proud 
of  them." 

The  Consul-General  continued  to  sit  with  his  head 
down,  listening  to  the  old  lady  and  saying  nothing,  yet  see- 
ing the  scene  as  she  depicted  it  and  feeling  again  the  ting- 
ling pride  which  he,  too,  had  felt  but  permitted  nobody 
that  night  to  knoM^ 

After  a  moment  the  beaming  face  on  the  bed  became 
clouded  over  as  if  that  memory  had  brought  other  memo- 
ries less  easy  to  bear — dreams  of  happy  days  to  come,  of 
honours,  and  of  children. 

"  Ah,  well,  God  knows  best,"  she  said  in  a  tremulous 
voice,  releasing  the  Consul-General's  hand  and  ceasing  to 
speak. 

The  old  man  felt  as  if  he  would  have  to  hurry  out  of 
the  room  without  uttering  another  word,  but  as  well  as  he 
could  he  controlled  himself  and  said: 

"  You  are  agitating  yourself,  Janet.  You  must  lie  quiet 
now." 

"  Yes,  I  must  lie  quiet  now,  and  think  of — of  other 
things,"  she  answered. 

He  was  stepping  away  when  she  called  on  him  to  turn 
her  on  her  right  side,  for  that  was  how  she  always  slept, 
and  upon  the  Egyptian  nurse  coming  hurrying  up  to  help, 
she  said: 

"  No,  no,  not  you,  Fatimah — his  lordship." 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  339 

Then  the  Consul-General  put  his  arms  about  her — feel- 
ing how  thin  and  wasted  she  was  and  how  little  of  her  was 
left  to  die — and  turning  her  gently  round  he  laid  her  back 
on  the  pillow  which  Fatimah  had  in  the  meantime  shaken 
out. 

While  he  did  so  her  dim  eyes  brightened  again,  and 
stretching  her  white  hands  out  of  her  silk  nightdress,  she 
clasped  them  about  his  neck  with  the  last  tender  effort  of 
the  woman  who  wanted  to  be  fondled  to  the  last. 

The  strain  of  talking  had  been  too  much  for  her,  and 
after  a  few  minutes  she  sank  into  a  restless  doze  in  which 
the  perspiration  broke  out  on  her  forehead  and  her  face 
acquired  an  expression  of  pain,  for  sleep  knows  no  pre- 
tences. But  at  length  her  features  became  more  composed 
and  her  breathing  more  regular,  and  then  the  Consul-Gen- 
eral, who  had  been  standing  aside,  mute  with  anguish,  said 
in  a  low  tone  to  Fatimah: 

"  She  is  sleeping  quietly  now,"  and  then  he  turned 
to  go. 

Fatimah  followed  him  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  said 
in  her  husky  whisper: 

"  It  will  be  all  over  to-night,  though — you'll  see  it  will." 

For  a  moment  he  looked  steadfastly  into  the  woman's 
eyes,  and  then,  without  answering  her,  he  walked  heavily 
down  the  stairs. 

Back  in  the  library,  he  stood  for  some  time  with  his 
face  to  the  empty  fireplace.  Over  the  mantelpiece  there 
hung  a  little  picture,  in  a  black-and-gilt  frame,  of  a  bright- 
faced  boy  in  an  Arab  fez.  It  was  more  than  he  could  do  to 
look  at  that  portrait  now,  so  he  took  it  off  its  brass  nail 
and  laid  it  face  down  on  the  marble  mantel-shelf. 

Just  at  that  moment  one  of  his  Secretaries  brought  in 
a  despatch.  It  was  the  despatch  from  the  Sirdar,  sent  in 
cipher  but  now  written  out  at  length.  The  Consul-General 
read  it  without  any  apparent  emotion  and  put  it  aside 
without  a  word. 

The  hours  passed  slowly;  the  night  was  very  long;  the 
old  man  did  not  go  to  bed.  Not  for  the  first  time  he  was 
asking  himself  searching  questions  about   the  mystery   of 


340  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

life  and  death,  but  the  great  enigma  was  still  baffling  him. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  while  he  had  occupied  himself 
with  the  mere  shows  and  semblance  of  things,  calling  them 
by  great  names,  Civilisation  and  Progress,  that  simple  soul 
upstairs  had  been  grasping  the  eternal  realities? 

There  were  questions  that  cut  deeper  even  than  that, 
and  now  they  faced  him  one  by  one.  Was  it  true  that  he 
had  married  merely  in  the  hope  of  having  some  one  to 
carry  on  his  name  and  thus  fulfil  the  aspirations  of  his 
pride?  Had  he  for  nearly  forty  years  locked  his  heart 
away  from  the  woman  who  had  been  starving  for  his  love, 
and  was  it  only  by  the  loss  of  the  son  who  was  to  have 
been  the  crown  of  his  life  that  they  were  brought  together 
in  the  end? 

Thus  the  hoofs  of  the  dark  hours  beat  heavily  on  the 
great  Proconsul's  brain,  and  in  the  awful  light  that  came 
to  him  from  an  open  grave  the  triumphs  of  the  life  behind 
him  looked  poor  and  small  and  mean. 

But  meantime  the  palpitating  air  of  the  room  upstairs 
was  full  of  a  different  spirit.  The  old  lady  had  apparently 
awakened  from  her  restless  sleep,  for  she  had  opened  her 
eyes  and  was  talking  in  a  bright  and  happy  voice.  Her 
cheeks  were  tinged  with  the  glow  of  health  and  her  whole 
face  was  filled  with  light. 

"  I  knew  I  should  see  them,"  she  said. 

"See  whom,  my  heart?"  asked  Fatimah;  but  without 
answering  her,  the  old  lady,  with  the  same  rapturous  ex- 
pression, went  on  talking. 

''  I  knew  I  should,  and  I  have !  I  have  seen  both  of 
them !  " 

"  Whom  have  you  seen,  my  lady  ? "  asked  Fatimah 
again;  but  once  more  the  dying  woman  paid  no  heed  to 
her. 

"  I  saw  them  as  plainly  as  I  see  you  now,  dear.  It  was 
in  a  place  I  did  not  know.  The  sun  was  so  hot,  and  the 
room  was  so  close.  There  was  a  rush  roof  and  divans  all 
round  the  walls.  But  Gordon  and  Helena  were  there  to- 
gether, sitting  at  opposite  sides  of  a  table  and  holding  each 
other's  hands." 


THE   LIGHT   OF   THE   WORLD  341 

"  Allah !  Allah !  "  muttered  Fatimah,  with  upraised 
hands. 

The  old  lady  seemed  to  hear  her,  for  an  indulgent  smile 
passed  over  her  radiant  face  and  she  said  in  a  tone  of  ten- 
der remonstrance : 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Fatimah!  Of  course  I  saw  him. 
The  Lord  said  I  should,  and  He  never  breaks  His  promises. 
*  Help  me,  0  God !  for  Christ's  sake,'  I  said.  '  Shall  I  see 
my  dear  son  again?  O  God!  give  me  a  sign.'  And  He  did! 
Yes,  it  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  *  Janet,'  said  a 
voice,  and  I  was  not  afraid.  '  Be  patient,  Janet.  You  shall 
see  your  dear  boy  before  you  die.' " 

Her  face  was  full  of  happy  visions.  The  life  of  this 
world  seemed  to  be  no  longer  there.  A  kind  of  life  from 
the  other  world  appeared  to  reanimate  the  sinking  woman. 
The  near  approach  of  eternity  illumined  her  whole  being 
with  a  supernatural  light.    She  was  dying  in  a  flood  of  joy. 

"Oh,  how  good  the  Lord  is!  It  is  so  easy  to  go  now! 
— John,  you  must  not  think  I  suffer  any  longer,  because  I 
don't.    I  have  no  pain  now,  dear — none  whatever." 

Then  she  clasped  her  wasted  hands  together  in  the  atti- 
tude of  prayer  and  said  in  a  rustling  whisper : 

"  To-night,  Lord  Jesus !     Let  it  be  to-night !  " 

After  that  her  rapturous  voice  died  down,  and  her 
ecstatic  eyes  gently  closed,  but  an  ineffable  smile  contin- 
ued to  play  on  her  faintly  tinted  face,  as  if  she  were  look- 
ing on  the  wings  that  were  waiting  to  bear  her  away. 

The  Doctor  came  in  at  that  moment  and  was  told  what 
had  occurred. 

"Delirium,  of  course,"  he  said.  A  change  had  come;  the 
crisis  was  approaching.  If  the  same  thing  happened  at  the 
supreme  moment  the  patient  was  not  to  be  contradicted; 
her  delusion  was  to  be  indulged. 

It  did  not  happen. 

In  the  early  hours  of  the  morning  the  Consul-General 
was  called  upstairs.  There  was  a  deep  silence  in  the  bed- 
room, as  if  the  air  had  suddenly  become  empty  and  void. 
The  day  was  breaking,  and  through  the  windows  that 
looked  over  to  the  Nile  the  white  sails  of  a  line  of  boats 


342  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

that  were  gliding  by  seemed  like  the  passing  of  angels' 
■wings.  Sparrows  were  twittering  in  the  eaves,  and  through 
the  windows  to  the  east  the  first  streamers  of  the  sunrise 
were  rising  in  the  sky. 

The  Consul-General  approached  the  bed  and  looked 
down  at  the  pallid  face  on  the  pillow.  He  wanted  to  stoop 
and  kiss  it,  but  he  felt  as  if  it  would  be  a  profanation  to 
do  so  now.  His  own  face  was  full  of  the  majesty  of  suffer- 
ing, for  the  sealed  chambers  of  his  iron  soul  had  been 
broken  open  at  last. 

With  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back  he  stood  for 
some  minutes  quite  motionless.  Then  laying  one  hand  on 
the  brass  head-rail  of  the  bed,  he  leaned  over  his  dead  wife 
and  spoke  to  her  as  if  she  could  hear. 

"  Forgive  me,  Janet !  Forgive  me,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice  that  was  like  a  sob. 

Did  she  hear  him?  Who  can  say  she  did  not?  Was  it 
only  a  ray  from  the  sunrise  that  made  the  Egyptian  woman 
think  that  over  the  dead  face  of  the  careworn  and  weary 
one,  whose  sweet  soul  was  even  then  winging  its  way  to 
heaven,  there  passed  the  light  of  a  loving  smile? 


XVII 

Within  three  days  the  softening  effects  on  the  Consul- 
General  of  Lady  Nuneham's  death  were  lost.  Out  of  his 
very  bereavement  and  the  sense  of  being  left  friendless  and 
alone  he  became  a  harder  and  severer  man  than  before. 
His  Secretaries  were  more  than  ever  afraid  of  him,  and  his 
servants  trembled  as  they  entered  his  room. 

It  heightened  his  anger  against  Gordon  to  believe  that 
by  his  conduct  he  had  hastened  his  mother's  end.  In  his 
absolute  self-abasement  there  were  moments  when  he 
would  have  found  it  easier  to  forgive  Gordon  if  he  had 
been  a  prodigal,  a  wastrel,  prompted  to  do  what  he  had 
done  by  the  grossest  selfishness;  but  deep  down  in  some  ob- 
scure depths  of  the  father's  heart  the  worst  suffering  came 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  343 

of  the  certainty  that  his  son  had  been  moved  by  that  tragic 
earnestness  which  belongs  only  to  the  greatest  and  noblest 
souls. 

Still  more  hardening  and  embittering  to  the  Consul- 
General  thaxi  the  memory  of  Gordon  was  the  thought  of 
Ishmael.  It  intensified  his  anger  against  the  Egyptian  to 
feel  that  having  first  by  his  "  visionary  mummery,"  by  his 
"  manoeuvring  and  quackery,"  robbed  him  of  his  son,  he 
had  now,  by  direct  consequence,  robbed  him  of  his  wife 
also. 

All  the  Consul-General's  bull-necked  strength,  all  his 
force  of  soul,  was  roused  to  fury  when  he  thought  of  that. 
He  was  old  and  tired  and  he  needed  rest,  but  before  he 
permitted  himself  to  think  of  retirement,  he  must  crush 
Ishmael  Ameer. 

Not  that  he  allowed  himself  to  recognise  his  vindictive- 
ness.  Shutting  his  eyes  to  his  personal  motive,  he  believed 
he  was  thinking  of  England  only.  Ishmael  was  the  head- 
centre  of  an  anarchical  conspiracy  which  was  using  secret 
and  stealthy  weapons  that  were  more  deadly  than  bombs; 
therefore  Ishmael  must  be  put  down,  he  must  be  trampled 
into  the  earth,  and  his  movement  must  be  destroyed. 

But  how  ? 

Within  a  few  hours  after  Lady  Nuneham's  funeral  the 
Grand  Cadi  came  by  night,  and,  with  many  vague  accusa- 
tions against  "  the  Arab  innovator,"  repeated  his  former 
warning : 

"  I  tell  you  again,  O  Excellency !  if  you  permit  that  man 
to  go  on  it  will  be  death  to  the  rule  of  England  in  Egypt." 

"  Then  prove  what  you  say,  prove  it,  prove  it !  "  cried  the 
Consul-General,  raising  his  impatient  voice. 

But  the  suave  old  Moslem  judge  either  could  not  or 
would  not  do  so.  Indeed,  being  a  Turkish  official,  accus- 
tomed to  quite  different  procedure,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  un- 
derstand why  the  Consul-General  wanted  proof. 

"  Arrest  the  offender  first  and  you'll  find  evidence 
enough  afterward,"  he  said. 

An  English  statesman  could  not  act  on  lines  like  those, 
so  the  Consul-General  turned  back  to  the  despatches  of  the 


344  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Sirdar.  The  last  of  them — the  one  received  during  the 
dark  hours  preceding  his  wife's  death — contained  signifi- 
cant passages : 

"  If  this  man  should  develop  supernatural  pretensions  I 
shall  know  what  to  do." 

Ha !  There  was  hope  in  that !  The  charlatan  element 
in  Ishmael  Ameer  might  carry  him  far  if  only  the  temp- 
tation of  popular  idolatry  were  strong  enough. 

Once  let  a  man  deceive  himself  with  the  idea  that  he 
was  divine — nay,  once  let  his  followers  delude  themselves 
with  the  notion  of  his  divinity — and  a  civilised  government 
would  be  bound  to  make  short  work  of  him.  "Whosoever 
and  whatsoever  he  might  be,  that  man  must  die! 

A  sudden  cloud  passed  over  the  face  of  the  Consul- 
General  as  he  glanced  again  at  the  Sirdar's  despatch  and 
saw  its  reference  to  Christ. 

"  How  senseless  everybody  is  becoming  in  this  world !  " 
he  thought. 

Pontius  Pilate!  Pshaw!  When  would  religious  hypoc- 
risy open  its  eyes  and  see  that  according  to  all  the  laws  of 
civilised  states,  the  Roman  Governor  had  done  right? 
Jesus  claimed  to  be  divine.  His  people  were  ready  to  recog- 
nise Him  as  King;  and  whether  His  Kingdom  was  of  this 
world  or  another,  what  did  it  matter?  If  His  pretensions 
had  been  permitted  they  would  have  led  to  wild,  chaotic, 
shapeless  anarchy.  Therefore  Pilate  crucified  Jesus,  and, 
scorned  though  he  had  been  through  all  the  ages,  he  had 
done  no  more  than  any  so-called  "  Christian "  governor 
would  be  compelled  to  do  to-day. 

"  Jesus  of  Xazareth,  the  King  of  the  Jews."  Why 
would  not  people  understand  that  these  words  were  written 
not  in  derision  but  in  self-defence?  There  could  have  been 
only  one  authority  in  Palestine  then,  and  there  could  be 
only  one  authority  in  Egypt  now. 

"  If  this  visionary  mummer,  with  his  empty  quackeries, 
should  develop  the  idea  that  he  is  divine,  or  yet  the  mes- 
senger of  divinity,  I  will  hang  him  like  a  dog!"  thought 
the  Consul-General. 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  345 


xvin 

Five  days  after  the  death  of  Lady  Nuneham  the  Consul- 
General  was  reading  at  his  breakfast  the  last  copy  of  the 
Times  to  arrive  in  Cairo.  It  contained  an  anticipatory 
announcement  of  a  forthcoming  Mansion  House  Banquet 
in  honour  of  the  King's  birthday.  The  Foreign  Minister 
was  expected  to  speak  on  the  "  unrest  in  the  East,  with 
special  reference  to  the  affair  of  El  Azhar." 

The  Consul-General's  face  frowned  darkly,  and  he  be- 
gan to  picture  the  scene  as  it  would  occur :  The  gilded 
hall;  the  crowd  of  distinguished  persons  eating  in  public; 
the  mixed  odours  of  many  dishes;  the  pop  of  champagne 
corks;  the  smoke  of  cigars;  the  buzz  of  chatter  like  the 
gobbling  of  geese  on  a  green;  and  then  the  Minister,  with 
his  hand  on  his  heart,  uttering  timorous  apologies  for  his 
Proconsul's  policy,  and  pouring  out  pompous  platitudes  as  if 
he  had  newly  discovered  the  decalogue ! 

The  Consul-General's  gorge  rose  at  the  thought.  Oh, 
when  would  these  people  who  stayed  comfortably  at  home 
and  lived  by  the  votes  of  the  factory-hands  of  Lancashire 
and  Yorkshire,  and  hungered  for  the  shouts  of  the  mob, 
understand  the  position  of  men  like  himself,  who,  in  for- 
eign lands,  among  alien  races,  encompassed  by  secret  con- 
spiracies, were  spending  their  strength  in  holding  high  the 
banner  of  Empire? 

"  Having  chosen  a  good  man,  why  can't  they  leave  him 
alone  ?  "  thought  the  Consul-General. 

And  then,  his  personal  feelings  getting  the  better  of  his 
patriotism,  he  almost  wished  that  the  charlatan  element  in 
Ishmael  Ameer  might  develop  speedily;  that  he  might 
draw  off  the  allegiance  of  the  native  soldiers  in  the  Soudan 
and  break  out,  like  the  Mahdi,  into  open  rebellion.  That 
would  bring  the  Secretary  of  State  to  his  senses,  make  him 
realise  a  real  danger  and  see  in  the  everlasting  "  affair  of 
El  Azhar  "  if  not  light,  then  lightning. 


346  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

The  door  of  the  breakfast  room  opened  and  Ibrahim 
entered. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ? "  demanded  the  Consul-General  with 
a  frown. 

Ibrahim  answered  in  some  confusion  that  a  small  boy 
was  in  the  hall,  asking  to  see  the  English  lord.  He  said  he 
brought  an  urgent  message,  but  would  not  tell  what  it  was 
or  where  it  came  from.  Ilad  been  there  three  times  before, 
slept  last  night  on  the  ground  outside  the  gate  and  could 
not  be  driven  away — would  his  lordship  see  the  lad? 

"What  is  his  race?    Egyptian?" 

"  Nubian,  my  lord." 

"  Ever  seen  the  boy  before  ?  " 

"No — yes — that  is  to  say — well,  now  that  your  lordship 
mentions  it,  I  think — yes,  I  think  he  came  here  once  with 
Miss  Hel —  I  mean  General  Graves's  daughter." 

"  Bring  him  up  immediately,"  said  the  Consul-General. 

At  the  next  moment  a  black  boy  stepped  boldly  into  the 
room.  It  was  Mosie.  His  clothes  were  dirty,  and  his 
pudgy  face  was  like  a  block  of  dark  soap  splashed  with 
stale  lather,  but  his  eyes  were  clear  and  alert  and  his  man- 
ner was  eager. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  do  you  want  ? "  asked  the  Consul- 
General. 

Mosie  looked  fearlessly  up  into  the  stern  face  with  its 
iron  jaw,  and  tipped  his  black  thumb  over  his  shoulder  to 
where  Ibrahim,  in  his  gorgeous  green  caftan,  stood  timidly 
behind  him. 

At  a  sign  from  the  Consul-General,  the  Egyptian  serv- 
ant left  the  room,  and  then,  quick  as  light,  Mosie  slipped 
ofF  his  sandal,  ripped  open  its  inner  sole,  and  plucked  out 
a  letter  stained  with  grease. 

It  was  the  letter  which  Helena  had  written  in  Khar- 
toum. 

The  Consul-General  read  it  rapidly,  with  an  eagerness 
which  even  he  could  not  conceal.  So  great,  indeed,  was  his 
excitement  that  he  did  not  see  that  a  second  paper  (Ish- 
mael's  letter  to  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar)  had  fallen  to 
the  floor  until  Mosie  picked  it  up  and  held  it  out  to  him. 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  347 

"  Good  boy,"  said  the  Consul-General — the  cloud  had 
passed  and  his  face  bore  an  expression  of  joy. 

Instantly  apprehending  the  dim  purport  of  Helena's 
hasty  letter,  the  Consul-General  saw  that  what  he  had  pre- 
dicted and  half  hoped  for  was  already  coming  to  pass.  It 
was  to  be  open  conspiracy  now,  not  passive  conspiracy  any 
longer.  The  man  Ishmael  was  falling  a  victim  to  the  most 
fatal  of  all  mental  maladies.  The  Mahdist  delusion  was 
taking  possession  of  him  and  he  was  throwing  himself  into 
the  Government's  hands. 

Hurriedly  ringing  his  bell,  the  Consul-General  com- 
mitted Mosie  to  Ibrahim's  care,  whereupon  the  small  black 
boy  in  his  soiled  clothes,  with  his  dirty  face  and  hands, 
strutted  out  of  the  room  in  front  of  the  Egyptian  servant, 
looking  as  proud  as  a  peacock  and  feeling  like  sixteen  feet 
tall.  Then  the  Consul-General  called  for  one  of  his  Secre- 
taries and  sent  him  for  the  Commandant  of  Police. 

The  Commandant  came  in  hot  haste.  He  was  a  big  and 
rather  corpulent  Englishman,  wearing  a  blue-braided  uni- 
form and  a  fez — naturally  a  blusterous  person  with  his  own 
people,  but  as  soft-voiced  as  a  woman  and  as  obsequious 
as  a  slave  before  his  chief. 

"  Draw  up  your  chair.  Commandant — closer — now  listen," 
said  the  Consul-General. 

And  then  in  a  low  tone  he  repeated  what  he  had  already 
learned  from  Helena's  letter,  and  added  what  he  had  in- 
stantly divined  from  it — that  Ishmael  Ameer  was  to  return 
to  Cairo;  that  he  was  to  come  back  in  the  disguise  of  a 
Bedouin  Sheikh;  that  his  object  was  to  draw  off  the  alle- 
giance of  the  Egyptian  Army  in  order  that  a  vast  horde 
of  his  followers  might  take  possession  of  the  city;  that  this 
was  to  be  done  during  the  period  of  the  forthcoming  fes- 
tivities, while  the  British  Army  was  still  in  the  provinces, 
and  that  the  conspiracy  was  to  reach  its  treacherous  cli- 
max on  the  night  of  the  King's  birtliday. 

The  Commandant  listened  with  a  gloomy  face,  and, 
looking  timidly  into  the  flashing  eyes  before  him,  he  asked 
if  his  Excellency  could  rely  on  the  source  of  his  infor- 
mation. 


348  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Absolutely !     Infallibly !  "  said  the  Consul-General. 

"  Then,"  said  the  Commandant  nervouslj%  "  I  presume 
the  festivities  must  be  postponed  ? " 

"  Certainlj'  not,  sir." 

"  Or  perhaps  your  Excellency  intends  to  have  the 
British  Army  called  back  to  Cairo  ? " 

"  Xot  that,  either." 

"  At  least  you  will  arrest  the  '  Bedouin.'  " 

"  Not  yet,  at  all  events." 

The  policy  to  be  pursued  was  to  be  something  quite 
different. 

Everything  was  to  go  on  as  usual.  Sports,  golf,  cricket, 
croquet,  tennis-tournaments,  polo-matches,  race-meetings, 
automobile-meetings,  "  all  the  usual  fooleries  and  frivoli- 
ties " — with  crowds  of  sight-seers,  men  in  flannels,  and 
ladies  in  beautiful  toilettes — were  to  be  encouraged  to  pro- 
ceed. The  police-bands  were  to  play  in  the  public  gardens, 
the  squares,  the  streets,  everywhere. 

"  Say  nothing  to  anybody.  Give  no  sign  of  any  kind. 
Let  the  conspiracy  go  on  as  if  we  knew  nothing  about  it. 
But " 

"Yes,  my  lord?    Yes?" 

"  Keep  an  eye  on  the  *  Bedouin.'  Let  every  train  that 
arrives  at  the  railway-station  and  every  boat  that  comes 
down  the  river  be  watched.  As  soon  as  you  have  spotted 
your  man  see  where  he  goes.  He  may  be  a  fanatical  fool, 
miscounting  his  '  divine '  influence  with  the  native  soldier, 
but  he  cannot  be  working  alone.  Therefore  find  out  who 
visit  him,  learn  all  their  movements,  let  their  plans  come 
to  a  head,  and,  when  the  proper  time  arrives,  in  one  hour,  at 
one  blow,  we  will  crush  their  conspiracy  and  clap  our  hands 
upon  the  whole  of  them." 

"  Splendid  !     An  inspiration,  my  lord !  " 

"  I've  always  said  it  would  some  day  be  necessary  to 
forge  a  special  weapon  to  meet  special  needs,  and  the  time 
has  come  to  forge  it.  Meantime  undertake  nothing  hur- 
riedly.    Make  no  mistakes,  and  see  that  your  men  make 


none." 


Certainly,  my  lord." 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  349 

"Investigate  every  detail  for  yourself,  and,  above  all, 
hold  your  tongue  and  guard  your  information  with  invio- 
lable secrecy." 

"  Surely,  my  lord." 

"  You  can  go  now.    I'm  busy.    Good-morning !  " 

"Wonderful  man!"  thought  the  Commandant,  as  he 
went  out  at  the  porch.  "  Seems  to  have  taken  a  new  lease 
of  life!    Wonderful!" 

The  Consul-General  spent  the  whole  of  that  day  in 
thinking  out  his  scheme  for  a  "  special  weapon,"  and  when 
night  came  and  he  went  upstairs — through  the  great  echo- 
ing house  that  was  like  the  bureau  of  a  department  of  State 
now,  being  so  empty  and  so  cheerless,  and  past  the  dark 
and  silent  room  whereof  the  door  was  always  closed — he 
felt  conscious  of  a  firmer  and  lighter  step  than  he  had 
known  for  years. 

Fatimah  was  in  his  bedroom,  for  she  had  constituted 
herself  his  own  nurse  since  his  wife's  death.  She  was  nail- 
ing up  on  the  wall  the  picture  of  the  little  boy  in  the  Arab 
fez,  and,  having  her  own  theory  about  why  he  had  taken  it 
down  in  the  library,  she  said: 

"  There !  It  will  be  company  for  your  lordship  and  no- 
body will  ask  questions  about  it  here." 

When  Fatimah  had  gone  the  Consul-General  could  not 
but  think  of  Gordon.  He  always  thought  of  him  at  that 
hour  of  the  night,  and  the  picture  of  his  son  that  rose 
in  his  mind's  eye  was  always  the  same.  It  was  a  picture  of 
Gordon's  deathly  white  face  and  trembling  lower  lip,  as  he 
stood  bolt  upright  while  his  medals  were  being  torn  from 
his  breast,  and  then  said,  in  that  voice  which  his  father 
could  never  forget :  "  General,  the  time  may  come  when  it 
will  be  more  painful  to  you  to  remember  all  this  than  it 
has  been  for  me  to  bear  it." 

Oh,  that  Gordon  could  be  here  now  and  see  for  himself 
what  a  sorry  charlatan,  what  a  self-deceived  quack  and 
conspirator,  was  the  man  in  whose  defence  he  had  allo-wed 
his  own  valuable  life  to  rush  down  to  a  confused  welter  of 
wreck  and  ruin! 

As  the  Consul-General  got  into  bed  he  was  thinking  of 


350  THE    AYHITE    PROPHET 

Helena.  What  a  glorious,  courageous,  resourceful  woman 
she  was !  It  carried  his  mind  back  to  biblical  days  to  find 
anything  equal  to  her  daring  and  her  success.  But  what 
was  the  price  she  had  paid  for  them?  He  remembered 
something  the  Sirdar  had  said  of  "  a  marriage,  a  sort  of 
betrothal,"  and  then  he  recalled  the  words  of  her  first  let- 
ter :  "  I  know  exactly  how  far  I  intend  to  go  and  I  shall  go 
no  farther.  I  know  exactly  what  I  intend  to  do  and  I  shall 
do  it  without  fear  or  remorse."' 

What  had  happened  in  the  Soudan?  What  was  hap- 
pening there  now?  •  In  what  battle-whirlwind  had  that 
splendid  girl's  magnificent  victory  been  won? 


XIX 

Meantime  Helena  in  Khartoum  was  feeling  like  a  mis- 
erable traitress. 

She  had  condemned  an  innocent  man  to  death!  Ish- 
mael  had  not  killed  her  father,  yet  she  had  taken  such  steps 
that  the  moment  he  entered  Cairo  he  would  be  walking  to 
his  doom ! 

One  after  another,  sweet  and  cruel  memories  crowded 
upon  her,  and  in  the  light  of  the  awful  truth,  as  Gordon 
had  revealed  it,  she  began  to  see  Ishmael  with  quite  difFer- 
ent  eyes.  All  she  had  hitherto  thought  evil  in  his  charac- 
ter now  looked  like  good ;  what  she  had  taken  for  hypocrisy 
was  sincerity;  what  she  had  supposed  to  be  subtlety  was 
simplicity.  His  real  nature  was  a  rebuke  to  every  one  of 
her  preconceived  ideas.  The  thought  of  his  tenderness,  his 
modesty,  his  devotion,  and  even  the  unselfishness  which  had 
led  to  their  betrothal,  cut  her  to  the  quick.  Yet  she  had 
doomed  him  to  destruction.  The  letter  she  had  written  to 
the  Consul-General  was  his  death-warrant. 

That  night  she  could  fix  her  mind  on  nothing  except  the 
horror  of  her  position,  but  next  morning  she  set  herself  to 
think  out  schemes  for  stopping  the  consequences  of  her 
own  act. 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  351 

The  black  boy  was  gone;  it  was  not  possible  to  over- 
take him;  there  was  no  other  train  to  Egypt  for  four 
days,  but  there  was  the  telegraph;  she  could  make  use 
of  that. 

"  I'll  telegraph  to  the  Consul-General  to  pay  no  atten- 
tion to  my  letter,"  she  thought. 

Useless !  The  Consul-General  would  ask  himself  search' 
ing  questions  and  take  his  precautions  just  the  same. 

"I'll  telegraph  that  my  letter  is  a  forgery,"  she  thought. 

Madness!  The  Consul-General  would  ask  himself  how, 
if  it  was  a  forgery,  she  could  know  anything  about  it. 

"  I'll  go  across  to  the  Sirdar  and  tell  him  everything, 
and  leave  him  to  act  for  both  of  us  as  he  thinks  best !  " 

Impossible !  How  could  she  explain  her  position  to  the 
Sirdar  without  betraying  Gordon's  identity  and  thereby 
leading  to  his  arrest? 

That  settled  everything.  There  was  no  escape  from  the 
consequences  of  her  conduct,  no  way  to  put  an  end  to  the 
network  of  dangers  by  which  she  had  surrounded  Ishmael. 
Mosie  was  now  far  on  his  way  to  Cairo;  he  carried  to  the 
Consul-General  not  only  her  own  letter,  but  also  the  original 
of  Ishmael's  letter  to  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar.  The 
hideous  work  was  done. 

Two  days  passed  during  which  her  over-excited  feelings 
seemed  to  paralyse  all  her  powers  of  thought.  Then  a  new 
idea  took  possession  of  her  and  she  set  herself  to  undo  what 
she  had  done  with  Ishmael  himself.  Little  by  little,  in 
tremvdous  tones,  and  with  a  still  deeper  sense  of  duplicity 
than  before,  she  began  to  express  halting  doubts  of  the 
success  of  their  enterprise. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  it,"  she  said  nervously, 
"  and  now  I  fear " 

"  What  do  you  fear,  O  Rani  ?  "  asked  Ishmael. 

"  I  fear,"  said  Helena,  trembling  visibly,  "  that  the  mo- 
ment the  Government  learn  from  the  Sirdar,  as  they  needs 
must,  that  the  great  body  of  your  people  have  left  Khar- 
toum, and  are  travelling  north,  they  will  recall  the  British 
Army  to  protect  the  capital  and  thus " 

But  Ishmael  interrupted  her  with  a  laugh. 


352  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  If  the  day  of  the  Kedeemer  has  come,"  he  said,  "  will 
human  armies  hinder  Him  ?    No !  " 

It  was  useless!  Ishmael  was  now  more  than  ever  an 
enthusiast,  a  fanatic,  a  visionary.  His  spiritual  ecstasy 
swept  away  every  obstacle,  and  made  him  blind  to  every 
danger. 

Helena  felt  like  a  witch  who  was  trying  to  undo  the 
effects  of  her  charm.  She  could  not  undo  them.  She  could 
not  destroy  the  potency  of  the  spell  she  herself  had  raised, 
and  the  effort  to  do  so  put  her  into  a  fever  of  excitement. 

Two  days  more  passed  like  this,  and  still  Helena  was  in 
the  toils  of  her  own  actions.  From  time  to  time  she  saw 
Gordon  as  he  sat  at  meals  or  moved  about  the  house.  He 
did  not  speak  to  her,  and  she  dropped  her  head  in  shame 
as  often  as  they  came  close  together.  But  at  length  she 
caught  a  look  in  his  face  which  seemed  to  her  to  say :  "  Are 
you  really  going  to  let  an  innocent  man  walk  into  the  jaws 
of  death?" 

That  brought  her  wavering  mind  to  a  quick  conclusion. 
Gordon  was  waiting  for  her  to  speak.  She  must  speak! 
She  must  confess  everything !  She  must  tell  Ishmael  what 
she  had  done,  and  by  what  tragic  tangle  of  error  she  had 
done  it.  At  any  cost,  no  matter  what,  she  must  put  an  end 
to  the  false  situation  in  which  she  lived,  and  thus  redeem 
herself  in  Gordon's  eyes  and  in  her  own. 

At  noon  that  day,  being  Friday,  Ishmael  lectured  in  the 
mosque,  delivering  a  still  more  fervent  and  passionate  mes- 
sage. The  kingdom  of  heaven  which  the  Lord  Isa  had  fore- 
told was  soon  to  come !  When  it  came,  God  would  lend  them 
legions  of  angels,  if  need  be,  to  protect  the  oppressed  and  to 
uphold  the  downtrodden !  Therefore  let  the  children  of  God 
fear  nothing  from  the  powers  and  principalities  of  the 
world!  Their  pilgrimage  was  safe!  No  harm  could  come 
to  them,  for  however  their  feet  might  slip,  the  arms  of  the 
Compassionate  would  bear  them  up! 

As  Ishmael's  ecstasy  had  increased  so  had  the  devotion 
of  his  people,  and  when  he  returned  home  they  followed 
him  in  a  dense  crowd  through  the  streets,  shouting  the 
wildest  acclamations: 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  353 

"  Out  of  the  waj^ !  The  Master  is  coming !  The  Mes- 
senger is  here!     Allah!     El  Ilamdullillah !  " 

Helena  heard  them,  but  she  did  not  hear  Ishmael  re- 
prove them,  as  in  earlier  days  he  had  been  wont  to  do. 

She  was  standing  in  the  guest-room,  and  the  noise  of  the 
approaching  crowd  had  brought  Gordon  from  his  bedroom, 
at  the  moment  when  Islimael,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  his 
people,  stepped  into  the  house. 

Ishmael  was  in  a  state  of  excitement  amounting  to  ex- 
altation, and  after  holding  out  hands  both  to  Helena  and 
Gordon  he  turned  to  his  followers  to  dismiss  them. 

"  Go  back  now,"  he  said,  "  and  to-night,  two  hours  after 
sunset,  let  the  TJlema  and  the  Notables  come  to  me  that  we 
may  decide  on  the  details  of  our  pilgrimage." 

"  Allah !     El  Hamdullillah !  "  cried  the  people. 

More  than  ever  they  were  like  creatures  possessed. 
Hungry  and  ragged  as  many  of  them  were,  the  new  mag- 
nificence that  was  to  be  given  to  their  lives  appeared  to  be 
already  shining  in  their  eyes. 

Helena  saw  this,  and  her  heart  was  smitten  with  re- 
morse at  thought  of  the  cruel  confession  she  had  decided 
to  make.  She  could  not  make  it  in  sight  of  the  hopes  it 
must  destroy.  But  neither  could  she  look  into  Gordon's 
searching  face  and  remain  silent,  and  as  soon  as  the  crowd 
had  gone,  she  made  an  efFort  to  speak. 

"  Ishmael,"  she  said,  trembling  all  over,  "  there  is  some- 
thing I  wish  to  say — if  it  will  not  displease  you." 

"  Nothing  the  Rani  can  say  will  displease  me,"  said  Ish- 
mael. 

He  was  looking  at  her  with  the  expression  of  enthusi- 
astic admiration  which  she  had  seen  in  his  eyes  before.  It 
was  hard  to  go  on. 

"  Tour  intentions  are  now  known  to  everybody,"  she 
said.  "  You  have  not  hidden  them  from  any  of  your  own 
people.  That  has  been  very  trustful,  very  noble,  but 
still " 

"  Still — what,  my  sister?  " 

"  If  somebody — should  betray  your  scheme  to  the  Gov- 
ernment, and — and  the  moment  you  set  foot  in  Cairo " 


354  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Again  Ishmael  interrupted  her  with  a  laugb. 

"  Impossible ! "  he  said,  smiling  upon  her  with  his 
bright  and  joyous  eyes.  "Islam  has  only  one  heart,  one 
soul,  one  mind." 

And  then  taking  her  quivering  hand  and  leading  her  to 
the  door,  he  pointed  to  the  camp  outside  and  said : 

"  Look !  Ten  thousand  of  our  poor  unhappy  people  are 
there.  They  have  come  to  me  from  the  tyrannies  of  cruel 
taskmasters  and  been  true  to  me  through  the  temptations 
of  hunger  and  thirst.  Some  of  them  are  from  Cairo  and 
are  waiting  to  return  home.  All  are  the  children  of  Islam 
and  are  looking  for  the  coming  of  the  Expected  who  brings 
peace  and  joy.  Is  there  one  of  them  who  will  betray  me 
now?  Not  one!  Treachery  would  injure  me,  but  it  would 
hurt  the  betrayer  more." 

Then  with  the  same  expression  of  enthusiastic  admira- 
tion and  in  a  still  tenderer  and  softer  voice,  he  began  to 
laugh  and  to  rally  her,  saying  he  knew  well  what  was  going 
on  in  his  sweet  sister's  mind — that  though  her  brave  spirit 
had  devised  the  plan  they  had  adopted,  yet  now  that  the 
time  was  near  for  carrying  it  into  execution  her  womanly 
heart  was  failing  her  and  affectionate  anxiety  for  his  own 
safety  was  making  her  afraid. 

"  But  have  no  fear  at  all,"  he  said,  standing  behind  her 
and  smoothing  her  check  with  a  light  touch  of  his  taper- 
ing fingers.  "  If  this  is  God's  work  will  God  forget  me  ? 
No!" 

With  a  sense  of  stifling  duplicity  Helena  made  one 
more  effort  and  said : 

"  Still,  who  knows,  there  may  be  some  one " 

"None,  O  Kani !  " 

"  But  don't  you  know " 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  anything  except  one  thing — 
that  God  guides  and  directs  me." 

Again  he  laughed  and  asked  where  was  the  kufiah  (the 
Bedouin  head-dress)  which  she  had  promised  to  make  for 
his  disguise. 

"Get  to  work  at  it  quick,"  he  said;  "it  will  be  wanted 
soon,  my  sister." 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  355 

And  then  clappinj?  his  hands  for  the  midday  meal,  he 
went  into  his  room  to  prepare  for  it,  leaving  Gordon  and 
Helena  for  some  moments  alone  together. 

Gordon  had  been  standing  aside  in  the  torment  of  a 
hundred  mixed  emotions,  and  now  he  and  Helena  spoke  in 
whispers. 

"  He  is  determined  to  go  into  Cairo,"  she  said. 

"  Quite  determined." 

"Oh,  is  there  no  way  to  prevent  him?" 

"  None  now — unless " 

"  Unless — what  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Let  us — let  us  wait  and  see,"  said  Gordon,  and  then 
Abdullah  came  in  to  lay  the  table. 


XX 

As  soon  as  the  midday  meal  was  over  Gordon  escaped 
to  his  own  room — the  room  he  shared  with  Ishmael — and 
throwing  himself  down  on  the  angerib  with  his  hands 
clasped  across  his  face,  he  tried  to  think  out  the  situation 
in  which  he  found  himself,  to  gaze  into  the  depths  of  his 
conscience  and  to  see  where  he  was  and  what  he  ought 
to  do. 

So  violent  was  the  state  of  his  soul  that  he  sat  there  a 
long  time  before  he  could  link  together  his  memories  of 
what  had  happened  since  he  arrived  in  Khartoum. 

"Am  I  dreaming?"  he  asked  himself  again  and  again, 
.as  one  by  one  his  thoughts  rolled  over  him  like  tempestu- 
ous waves. 

The  first  thing  he  saw  clearly  was  that  Ishmael  was  not 
now  the  same  man  that  he  had  seen  at  Alexandria;  that 
the  anxieties,  responsibilities,  and  sufferings  he  had  gone 
through  as  a  religious  leader  had  dissipated  his  strong  com- 
mon-sense; and  that  as  a  consequence  the  caution  whereby 
men  guard  their  conduct  had  gone. 

He  also  saw  that  Ishmael's  spiritual  ecstasy  had  reached 
a  point  not  far  removed  from  madness;  that  his  faith  in 


356  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

divine  guidance,  divine  guardianship,  divine  intervention 
had  become  an  absolute  obsession. 

Therefore  it  was  hopeless  to  try  to  move  him  from  his 
purpose  by  any  appeals  on  the  score  of  danger  to  himself 
or  to  his  people. 

"  He  is  determined  to  go  into  Cairo,"  thought  Gordon, 
"  and  into  Cairo  he  will  go." 

The  next  thing  Gordon  saw,  as  he  examined  the  situa- 
tion before  him,  was  that  Helena  was  powerless  to  undo 
the  work  which  by  the  cruel  error  of  fate  she  had  been  led 
to  do;  that  her  act  was  irrevocable;  that  there  was  no  call- 
ing it  back,  and  that  it  would  go  from  its  consequences  to 
the  consequences  of  its  consequences. 

Helena's  face  appeared  before  him,  and  his  heart  bled 
for  her  as  he  thought  of  how  she  passed  before  him — she 
who  had  always  been  so  bold  and  gay — with  her  once  proud 
head  bent  low.  He  remembered  her  former  strength  and 
self-reliance;  her  natural  force  and  grace;  her  fearless 
daring  and  that  dash  of  devilry  which  had  been  for  him 
one  of  her  greatest  charms,  and  then  he  thought  of  her 
false  position  in  that  house,  brought  there  by  her  own  will, 
held  there  by  her  own  act — a  tragic  figure  of  a  woman  in. 
the  meshes  of  her  own  net. 

"  She  cannot  continue  to  live  like  this.  It  is  impossi- 
ble.   Yet  what  can  the  end  be?  "  he  asked  himself. 

Hours  passed  like  this.  His  head  under  his  hot  hands 
burned  and  his  temples  throbbed,  yet  no  ray  of  light 
emerged  from  the  darkness  surrounding  him. 

But  at  length  the  man  in  him,  the  soldier  and  the  lover, 
swept  down  every  obstacle,  and  he  told  himself  that  he 
must  save  Helena  from  the  consequences  of  her  own  con- 
duct, whatever  the  result  might  be. 

"  I  must !  I  must !  "  he  kept  on  repeating  as  Helena's 
face  rose  before  him;  and  after  a  while  this  blind  resolu- 
tion brought  him  at  one  stride  to  a  new  idea. 

Ishmael  was  determined  to  go  into  Cairo,  but  there  was 
one  way  to  prevent  him  doing  so — that  he,  Gordon  himself, 
should  go  instead ! 

When  he  first  thought  of  that  his  temples  beat  so  vio- 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  357 

lently  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  would  burst,  and  he  felt  as 
if  he  had  been  brought  to  the  very  brink  of  despair.  See- 
ing nothing  before  him  but  instant  arrest  the  moment  he 
entered  the  city,  it  seemed  to  be  a  pitiful  end  to  his  long 
journey  across  the  desert,  a  poor  sequel  to  his  fierce  strug- 
gle with  himself,  and  to  the  mystic  hopes  with  which  he 
had  buoyed  up  his  heart,  that  immediately  after  he  had 
reached  Khartoum  he  should  turn  back  to  his  death. 

Work,  mission,  redemption — all  that  had  so  recently 
had  a  meaning  for  him  had  disappeared.  But  his  heart 
rose  when  he  remembered  that  if  he  did  what  he  had  de- 
termined to  do,  the  cruel  error  of  fate  would  be  broken 
whereby  Ishmael  had  been  doomed  to  die  for  an  offence  he 
did  not  commit. 

What  was  the  first  fact  of  this  cruel  situation?  That 
Helena  had  believed  Ishmael  to  be  guilty  of  the  death  of 
her  father.  But  Ishmael  was  innocent,  whereas  he,  Gor- 
don, was  guilty!  Could  he  allow  an  innocent  man  to  die 
for  his  crime? 

That  brought  him  to  the  crisis  of  his  conscience.  It 
settled  everything.  Destiny,  acting  under  the  blind  force 
of  a  poor  girl's  love  for  her  father,  was  sending  Ishmael  to 
his  death.  But  destiny  should  be  defeated !  He  should  pay 
his  own  penalty!  Ishmael  should  be  snatched  from  the 
doom  that  threatened  him,  and  Helena  should  be  saved 
from  lifelong  remorse. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  must  go  into  Cairo  instead,"  he  told  himself. 

It  had  grown  late  by  this  time  and  the  bedroom  had  be- 
come dark  when  Abdullah  knocked  at  the  door  and  said 
that  the  Sheikhs  were  in  the  guest-room  and  Ishmael  was 
asking  for  Omar. 

Under  its  roof  thatched  with  stalks  of  durah,  lit  by 
lamps  suspended  from  its  rafters,  the  Ulema  and  Notables 
of  Khartoum — the  same  that  visited  the  Sirdar — had  gath- 
ered soon  after  sunset,  and  squatting  on  the  divans  covered 
by  carpets  and  cushions,  had  drunk  their  coffee  and  talked 
in  their  winding,  circuitous  Eastern  way  of  the  business  be- 
fore them  and  particularly  of  the  White  Lady's  part  in  it, 
while  they  waited  for  Ishmael,  who  was  still  at  the  mosque. 
24 


358  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Yes,"  the  vivacious  old  Pasha  had  said,  "  no  matter  how 
great  a  man  may  be,  when  he  undertakes  an  enterprise  like 
this  he  should  always  consult  ten  of  his  friends." 

"  But  great  ones  are  not  great  in  friends,"  said  a 
younger  Sheikh.    "What  if  he  has  not  got  ten?" 

"  Then  let  him  consult  one  friend  ten  times  over." 

"  Nay,  but  if  he  stands  so  high  that  he  has  not  got  even 
one  friend  ? " 

"  Then,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sly  look  over  his  shoul- 
der toward  the  women's  side  of  the  house,  "  let  him  consult 
his  wife  and  whatever  she  advises  let  him  do  the  contrary." 

When  Gordon  in  his  Bedouin  dress  entered  the  guest- 
room, Ishmael  was  sitting  in  the  midst  of  his  people,  and 
he  called  to  him  to  take  the  seat  by  his  right  side. 

"  But  where  is  the  Rani  ? "  he  asked,  looking  round, 
whereupon  Abdullah  answered  that  she  was  still  in  her 
room,  and  the  old  Pasha  hinted  that  in  the  emancipation 
of  the  Eastern  woman  perhaps  women  themselves  would  be 
the  chief  impediment. 

"  I  know !  I  know !  "  said  Islmiael.  "  But  all  the  same 
we  must  turn  our  backs  on  the  madness  of  a  bygone  age 
that  woman  is  inferior  to  man,  and  her  counsel  is  not  to 
be  trusted.     Bring  her,  Abdullah." 

A  few  minutes  afterward  Helena,  wearing  her  Indian  veil 
but  with  her  face  uncovered,  entered  the  guest-room  with 
downcast  eyes,  followed  by  the  Arab  woman  and  the  child. 

It  cut  Gordon  to  the  quick  to  see  her  look  of  shame  and 
of  confusion,  but  Ishmael  saw  nothing  in  Helena's  manner 
except  maidenly  modesty  under  the  eyes  of  so  many  men, 
and  making  a  place  for  her  on  his  left,  he  began  without 
further  delay  on  the  business  that  had  brought  them 
together. 

They  were  about  to  win  a  dear  victory  for  God,  but  it 
was  to  be  a  white  war,  a  bloodless  revolution.  The  heart- 
less festivities  that  were  to  be  held  in  honour  of  the  birth- 
day of  the  King  who  lived  across  the  seas  while  people  per- 
ished in  Egypt,  were  to  reach  their  climax  something  more 
than  a  month  hence.  Therefore  the  great  caravan  of  God's 
children  who  were  to  cross  the  desert  by  camel  and  horse 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  359 

and  ass,  in  order  that  they  might  meet  the  Expected  One 
when  he  appeared  in  Cairo,  should  start  within  a  week. 
But  the  messenger  of  God  who  had  to  prepare  the  path, 
before  them  must  go  by  train,  and  he  ought  to  leave  Khar- 
toum in  four  days. 

Other  preliminaries  of  the  pilgrimage  there  were  to  ar- 
range, and  after  the  manner  of  their  kind  the  Sheikhs 
talked  long  and  leisurely,  agreeing  finally  that  Ishmael 
should  go  first  into  Cairo  in  the  disguise  of  a  Bedouin 
Sheikh  to  make  sure  of  the  success  of  their  mission,  and 
that  Omar  (Gordon)  should  follow  him  in  command  of  the 
body  of  the  people. 

At  length  there  was  silence  for  a  moment  and  then  Ish- 
mael said: 

"  Is  there  anything  else,  my  brothers  ?  " 

And  at  that  Gordon,  who  had  not  spoken  before,  turned 
to  him  and  answered,  in  the  style  as  well  as  the  language 
of  the  Arabs. 

"  Listen,  I  beg  of  you,  to  my  words,  and  forgive  me  if 
what  I  say  is  not  pleasing  to  you  or  yours." 

"  Speak,  Omar  Benani,  speak,"  said  Ishmael,  laying  his 
right  hand,  with  an  affectionate  gesture,  on  Gordon's  left. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  in  which  Gordon  could 
distinctly  hear  the  sound  of  Helena's  breathing.  Then  he 
said: 

"  Reverse  your  order,  oh,  my  brother,  and  let  me  go  first 
into  Cairo." 

A  tingling  electrical  current  seemed  to  pass  through  the 
air  of  the  room,  and  again  Gordon  heard  the  sound  of  He- 
lena's laboured  breathing,  but  no  one  spoke  except  Ishmael, 
who  said,  in  a  soft  Toice : 

"But  why,  Omar,  why?" 

Gordon  braced  himself  up  and  answered: 

"  First,  because  it  best  becomes  a  messenger  of  God  to 
enter  Cairo  in  the  company  of  his  people,  not  alone  and  in 
disguise." 

"  And  next  ?  " 

"Next,  because  I  know  Cairo  better  than  Ishmael,  and 
all  that  he  can  do  I  can  do,  and  more." 


360  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

There  was  another  moment  of  tense  silence,  and  then 
Ishmael  said : 

"I  listen  to  your  sincere  proposal,  oh,  my  brother,  but 
before  I  answer  it  I  ask  for  the  counsel  of  my  friends." 

Then  raising  his  voice,  he  cried :  "  Companions,  you 
have  heard  what  Omar  Benani  has  said — which  of  us  is  it 
to  be?" 

At  that  the  electrical  atmosphere  in  the  room  broke  into 
eager  and  impetuous  speech.  First  came,  as  needs  must  in 
an  Eastern  conclave,  some  guests  of  questions,  then  certain 
breezes  of  protest,  but  finally  a  strong  and  unbroken  current 
of  assent. 

"  Master,"  said  one  of  the  Sheikhs,  "  I  liave  eaten  bread 
and  salt  with  you,  therefore  I  will  not  deceive  you.  Let 
Omar  go  first.  lie  can  do  all  that  Ishmael  can  do  and  run 
no  risk." 

"  Messenger  of  the  Merciful,"  said  another,  "  neither  wiU. 
I  deceive  you.  Omar  knows  Cairo  best.  Therefore  let  h.im 
go  first." 

After  others  had  answered  in  the  same  way  Ishmael 
turned  to  Mahmud,  his  uncle,  whereupon  the  old  man  wiped 
his  rheumy  eyes  and  said: 

"  Your  life  is  in  God's  hand,  0  son  of  my  brother,  and 
man  camiot  escape  his  destiny.  If  it  is  God's  will  that  you 
should  be  the  first  to  go  into  Cairo,  you  will  go  and  God 
will  protect  you.  But  speaking  for  myself,  I  should  think 
it  a  shame  and  a  humiliation  that  the  father  of  his  people 
should  not  enter  the  city  with  his  children.  If  Omar  says 
he  can  do  as  much  as  you,  believe  him — the  white  man  does 
not  lie." 

No  sooner  had  the  old  man  concluded  than  the  whole 
company  with  one  voice  shouted  that  they  were  all  of  the 
same  opinion,  whereupon  Ishmael  cried: 

"So  be  it  then!  Omar  it  shall  be!  And  do  not  think 
for  one  moment  that  I  grudge  your  choice." 

"  El  Hamdullillah ! "  shouted  the  company,  as  from  a 
sense  of  otherwise  inexpressible  relief. 

Meantime  Gordon  was  conscious  only  of  Helena's  vio- 
lent agitation.    Though  he  dared  not  look  at  her  he  seemed 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  361 

to  see  her  feverish  face,  and  the  expression  of  terror  in  her 
lustrous  eyes.  At  length,  when  the  shouts  of  the  Sheikhs 
had  subsided,  he  heard  her  tremulous  voice  saying  hur- 
riedly to  Ishmael: 

"  Do  not  listen  to  them." 

"  But  why,  my  Rani  ? "  Ishmael  asked  in  a  whisper. 

She  tried  to  answer  him  and  could  not.  "  Because — 
because " 

"  Because — what  ?  "  asked  Ishmael  again. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — I  can't  think — but  I  beg  you,  I  in- 
treat  you,  not  to  let  Omar  go  into  Cairo." 

Her  agitated  voice  made  another  moment  of  silence,, 
and  then  Ishmael  said  in  a  soft,  indulgent  tone : 

"I  understand  you,  oh,  my  Rani!  This  may  be  the  task 
of  greatest  danger,  but  it  is  the  place  of  highest  honour, 
too,  and  you  would  fain  see  no  man  except  your  husband 
assigned  to  it.  But  Omar  is  of  me  and  I  am  of  him,  and 
there  can  be  no  pride  or  jealousy  between  us." 

And  then  taking  Gordon  by  the  right  hand,  while  with, 
his  left  he  was  holding  Helena,  he  said : 

"  Omar,  my  friend,  my  brother !  " 

"  El  Hamdullillah !  "  cried  the  Sheikhs  again,  and  then 
one  by  one  they  rose  to  go. 

Helena  arose,  too,  and  with  her  face  aflame  and  her 
breath  coming  in  gusts  she  hurried  back  to  her  room.  The 
Arab  woman  followed  her  in  a  moment,  and  with  a  mock- 
ing smile  in  her  glinting  eyes  she  said : 

"  How  happy  you  must  be,  O  lady,  that  some  one  else 
than  your  husband  is  to  go  into  that  place  of  danger !  " 

But  Helena  could  bear  no  more. 

"  Go  out  of  the  room  this  moment !  I  cannot  endure 
you !     I  hate  you  !     Go,  woman,  go !  "  she  cried. 

Zenoba  fled  before  the  fury  in  her  lady's  face,  but  at 
the  next  moment  Helena  had  dropped  to  the  floor  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"When  she  gained  possession  of  herself  again  the  child, 
Ayesha,  was  embracing  her  and,  without  knowing  why,  was 
weeping  over  her  wet  cheeks. 


362  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


XXI 

Now  that  Gordon  was  to  take  Ishmael's  place,  Helena 
found  herself  deeper  than  ever  in  the  toils  of  her  own  plot. 
She  could  see  nothing  but  death  before  him  as  the  result 
of  his  return  to  Cairo.  If  his  identity  were  discovered  he 
would  die  for  his  own  offences  as  a  soldier.  If  it  were  not 
discovered  he  would  be  executed  for  Ishmael's  conspiracies 
as  she  had  made  them  known. 

"  Oh,  it  cannot  be !  It  must  not  be !  It  shall  not  be !  " 
she  continued  to  say  to  herself,  but  without  seeing  a  way 
to  prevent  it. 

Xever  for  a  moment  in  her  anxiety  to  save  Gordon  from 
stepping  into  the  pit  she  had  dug  for  Ishmael  did  she  allow 
herself  to  think  that  being  the  real  cause  of  her  father's 
death,  he  deserved  the  penalty  she  had  prepared  for  the 
guilty  man.  Her  mind  had  altered  toward  that  event  since 
the  man  concerned  in  it  had  changed.  The  more  she 
thought  of  it  the  more  sure  she  became  that  it  was  a  to- 
tally different  thing  from  the  thing  she  had  proposed — in 
the  strict  sense  hardly  a  crime  at  all. 

In  the  first  place  she  reminded  herself  that  her  father 
had  suffered  from  an  affection  of  the  heart  which  must 
have  contributed  to  his  death  even  if  it  had  not  been  the 
principal  cause  of  it.  How  could  she  have  forgotten  that 
fact  until  now? 

Remembering  her  father's  excitement  and  exhaustion 
when  she  saw  him  last,  she  could  see  for  the  first  time,  by 
the  light  of  Gordon's  story,  what  had  afterward  occurred — 
the  burst  of  ungovernable  passion,  the  struggle,  the  fall, 
the  death. 

Then  she  told  herself  that  Gordon  had  not  intended  to 
kill  her  father,  and  whatever  he  did  had  been  done  for  love 
of  her.  "  Helena  was  mine,  and  you  have  taken  her  from 
me,  and  broken  her  heart  as  well  as  my  own."  Yes,  love 
for  her  and  the  torment  of  losing  her,  had  brought  Gordon 
back  to  the  Citadel  after  he  had  been  ordered  to  return  to 
his  quarters.     Love  for  her  and  the  delirium  of  a  broken 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  363 

heart  had  rung  out  of  him  the  insults  which  had  led  to  the 
quarrel  which  resulted  in  her  father's  death. 

In  spite  of  her  lingering  tenderness  for  the  memory  of 
her  father,  she  began  to  see  how  much  he  had  been  to 
blame  for  what  had  happened — to  think  of  the  gross  indig- 
nity, the  frightful  shame,  the  unmerciful  and  even  unlaw- 
ful degradation  to  which  in  his  towering  rage  he  had  sub- 
jected Gordon.  The  scene  came  back  to  her  with  horrible 
distinctness  now — her  father  crying  in  a  half-stifled  voice : 
"  You  are  a  traitor !  A  traitor  who  has  consorted  with  the 
enemies  of  his  country,"  and  then  ripping  Gordon's  sword 
from  its  scabbard  and  breaking  it  across  his  knee. 

But  seeing  this,  she  also  saw  her  own  share  in  what  had 
occurred.  At  the  moment  of  Gordon's  deepest  humiliation 
she  had  driven  him  away  from  her.  Her  pride  had  con- 
quered her  love,  and  instead  of  flinging  herself  into  his 
arms  as  she  ought  to  have  done,  whether  he  was  in  the  right 
or  in  the  wrong,  when  everybody  else  was  trampling  upon 
him,  she  had  insulted  him  with  reproaches  and  turned  her 
back  upon  him  in  his  disgrace. 

That  scene  came  back  to  her,  too — Gordon  at  the  door 
of  the  General's  house,  with  his  deathly  white  face  and 
trembling  lips,  stammering  out :  "  I  couldn't  help  it,  Helena 
— it  was  impossible  for  me  to  act  otherwise,"  and  then, 
bareheaded  as  he  was  and  with  every  badge  of  rank  and 
honour  gone,  staggering  across  the  garden  to  the  gate. 

When  she  thought  of  all  this  now,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
if  anybody  had  been  to  blame  for  her  father's  death  it  was 
not  Gordon  but  herself.  His  had  been  the  hand,  the  blind 
hand  only,  but  the  heart  that  had  wrought  the  evil  had  been 
hers. 

"  Oh !  it  cannot  be,  it  shall  not  be !  "  she  continued  to 
say  to  herself,  and  just  as  she  had  tried  to  undo  her  work 
with  Ishmael  when  he  was  bent  on  going  into  Cairo,  so  she 
determined  to  do  the  same  with  Gordon,  now  that  he  had 
stepped  into  Ishmael's  place. 

Her  opportunity  came  soon. 

A  little  before  midday  of  the  day  following  the  meeting 
of  the  Sheikhs,  she  was  alone  in  the  guest-room,  sitting  at 


364  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

the  brass  table  that  sei-ved  her  as  a  desk — Ishmael  being 
in  the  camp,  Zenoba  and  the  child  in  the  town,  and  old 
Mahmud  still  in  bed — when  Gordon  came  out  of  the  men's 
quarter  and  walked  toward  the  door  as  if  intending  to  pass 
out  of  the  house. 

He  had  seen  her  as  he  came  from  his  bedroom,  with 
one  of  her  hands  pressed  to  her  brow,  and  a  feeling  of  in- 
expressible pity  and  unutterable  longing  had  so  taken  pos- 
session of  him,  with  the  thought  that  he  was  soon  to  lose 
her — the  most  precious  gift  life  had  given  him — that  he 
had  tried  to  steal  away. 

But  instinctively  she  felt  his  approach,  and  with  a 
trembling  voice  she  called  to  him,  so  he  returned  and  stood 
by  her  side. 

"  Why  are  you  doing  this  ?  "  she  said.  "  You  know  what 
I  mean.     Why  are  you  doing  it  ?  " 

"  You  know  quite  well  why  I  am  doing  it,  Helena.  Ish- 
mael was  determined  to  go  to  his  death.  There  was  only 
one  way  to  prevent  him.    I  had  to  take  it." 

"  But  you  are  going  to  death  yourself — isn't  that  so  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer.    He  was  trying  not  to  look  at  her. 

"  Or  perhaps  you  see  some  way  of  escape — do  you  ? " 

Still  he  did  not  speak — ^he  was  even  trying  not  to  hear 
her. 

"  If  not,  why  are  you  going  into  Cairo  instead  of  Ish- 
mael?" 

"  Don't  ask  me  that,  Helena.  I  would  rather  not  answer 
you." 

Suddenly  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence  she  said : 

"  I  know !  I  understand !  But  remember  your  father. 
He  loves  you.  You  may  not  think  it,  but  he  does,  I  am 
sure  he  does.  Yet  if  you  go  into  Cairo  you  know  quite  well 
what  he  will  do." 

"  My  father  is  a  great  man,  Helena.  He  will  do  his 
duty  whatever  happens — what  he  believes  to  be  his  duty." 

"  Certainly  he  will,  but  all  the  same  do  you  think  he 
will  not  suffer?  And  do  you  wish  to  put  him  into  the  posi- 
tion of  being  compelled  to  cut  off  his  own  son?     Is  that 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  305 

right?  Can  anything — anytliing  in  the  world — make  it 
necessary  ? " 

Gordon  did  not  answer  her,  but  under  the  strain  of  his 
emotion  he  tightened  his  lips  and  his  pinched  nostrils  be- 
gan to  dilate  like  the  nostrils  of  a  horse. 

"  Then  remember  your  mother,  too,"  said  Helena.  "  She 
is  weak  and  ill.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  think  of  her  as  I  saw 
her  last.  She  believes  that  you  have  fled  away  to  some  for- 
eign country,  but  she  is  living  in  the  hope  that  time  will 
justify  you,  and  then  you  will  be  reconciled  to  your  father, 
and  come  back  to  her  again.  Is  this  how  you  would  come 
back  ?— Oh,  it  will  kill  her !     I'm  sure  it  will !  " 

She  saw  that  Gordon's  strong  and  manly  face  was  now 
utterly  discomposed  and  she  could  not  help  but  follow  up 
her  advantage. 

"  Then  think  a  little  of  me,  too,  Gordon.  This  is  all  my 
fault,  and  if  anything  is  done  to  you  in  Cairo  it  will  be 
just  the  same  to  me  as  if  I  had  done  it.  Do  you  wish  me 
to  die  of  remorse  ? " 

She  saw  that  he  was  struggling  to  restrain  himself,  and 
turning  her  beautiful  wet  eyes  upon  him  and  laying  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  she  said: 

"  Don't  go  back  to  Cairo,  Gordon !  For  my  sake,  for 
your  own  sake,  for  our  love's  sake " 

But  Gordon  could  bear  no  more,  and  he  cried  in  a  low, 
hoarse  whisper : 

"  Helena,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  speak  so.  I  knew  it 
wouldn't  be  easy  to  do  what  I  intended  to  do,  and  it  isn't 
easy.  But  don't  make  it  harder  for  me  than  it  is,  I  beg,  I 
pray." 

She  tried  to  speak  again,  but  he  would  not  listen. 

"  When  you  sent  the  message  into  Cairo  that  doomed 
Ishmael  to  death,  you  thought  he  had  killed  your  father. 
If  he  had  really  done  so  he  would  have  deserved  all  you  did 
to  him.  But  he  hadn't,  whereas  I  had — do  you  think  I  can 
let  an  innocent  man  die  for  my  crime  ?  " 

"  But,  Gordon — "  she  began,  and  again  he  stopped  her. 

"  Don't  speak  about  it,  Helena.  For  Heaven's  sake, 
don't!  I've  fought  this  battle  with  myself  before  and  I 
25 


366  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

can't  fight  it  over  again.  With  your  eyes  upon  me,  too, 
your  voice  in  my  ears,  and  your  presence  by  my  side." 

He  was  trying  to  move  away  and  she  was  still  clinging 
to  his  arm. 

"Don't  speak  about  our  love,  either.  All  that  is  over 
now.  You  must  know  it  is.  There  is  a  barrier  between  us 
that  can  never " 

His  voice  was  breaking  and  he  was  struggling  to  tear 
himself  away  from  her,  but  she  leaped  to  her  feet  and 
cried : 

"  Gordon,  you  shall  hear  me,  you  must ! "  and  then  he 
stopped  short  and  looked  at  her. 

"  You  think  you  were  the  cause  of  my  father's  death, 
but  you  were  not,"  she  said. 

His  mouth   opened,  his  lips  trembled,  he  grew  deathly 

pale. 

"You  think,  too,  that  there  is  a  barrier  of  blood  be- 
tween us,  but  there  is  no  such  thing." 

"  Take  care  of  what  you  are  saying,  Helena." 

"  What  I  am  saying  is  the  truth,  Gordon — it  is  God's 
truth." 

He  looked  blankly  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence ;  then 
laid  hold  of  her  violently  by  both  arms,  gazed  closely  into 
her  face  and  said  in  a  low,  trembling  voice: 

"  Helena,  if  you  knew  what  it  is  to  live  for  months  un- 
der the  shadow  of  a  sin — an  awful  sin — an  unpardonable 
gin— surely  you  wouldn't—  But  why  don't  you  speak? 
Speak,  girl,  speak!  " 

Then  Helena  looked  fearlessly  back  into  his  excited  face 

and  said: 

"  Gordon,  do  you  remember  that  you  came  to  ray  room 
in  the  Citadel  before  you  went  into  that — that  fatal  inter- 
view ? " 

"  Yes,  yes !    How  can  I  forget  it?  " 

"  Do  you  also  remember  what  I  told  you  then — that 
whatever  happened  that  day  I  could  never  leave  my 
father?" 

"  Yes,  certainly,  yes." 

"  Do  you  remember  that  you  asked  me  why  and  I  said 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  367 

I  couldn't  tell  you  because  it  was  a  secret — somebody  else's 
secret  ^ " 

"  Well  ?  "  His  pulses  were  beating  violently ;  she  could 
feel  them  throbbing  on  her  arms. 

"  Gordon,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know  what  that  secret 
was?    I  can  tell  you  now.    Do  you  know  what  it  was?" 

"  What  ?  " 

"  That  my  father  was  suffering  from  heart-disease  and 
had  already  received  his  death-warrant." 

She  waited  for  Gordon  to  speak,  but  he  was  almost 
afraid  to  breathe. 

"  He  didn't  know  his  condition  until  we  arrived  in 
Egypt,  and  then  perhaps  he  ought  to  have  resigned  his 
commission,  but  he  had  been  out  of  the  service  for  two 
years,  and  the  temptation  to  remain  was  too  much  for  him, 
so  he  asked  me  to  promise  to  say  nothing  about  it." 

Gordon  released  her  arms  and  she  sat  down  again.  He 
stood  over  her  breathing  fast  and  painfully. 

"  I  thought  you  ought  to  have  been  told  at  the  time 
•when  we  became  engaged,  but  my  father  said :  '  No !  Why 
put  him  in  a  false  position  and  burden  him  with  responsi- 
bilities he  ought  not  to  bear?'" 

Helena's  own  voice  was  breaking  now,  and  as  Gordon 
listened  to  it  he  was  looking  down  at  her  flushed  face, 
which  was  thinner  than  before  but  more  beautifuV  than 
ever  in  his  eyes  and  a  hundredfold  more  touching  than 
when  it  first  won  his  heart. 

"  I  tried  to  tell  you  that  day,  too,  before  you  went  into 
the  General's  office,  so  that  you  might  see  for  yourself, 
dear,  that  if  you  separated  yourself  from  my  father  I — I 
couldn't  possibly  follow  you,  but  there  was  my  promise  and 
then — then  my  pride  and — and  something  you  said  that 
pained  and  wounded  me " 

"  I  know,  I  know,  I  know,"  he  said. 

"  But  now,"  she  continued,  rising  to  her  feet  again, 
"  now,"  she  repeated,  in  the  same  trembling  voice,  but  with 
a  look  of  joy  and  triumph,  "  now  that  you  have  told  me 
what  happened  after  your  return  to  the  Citadel,  I  see  quite 
clearly — I   am  sure — perfectly  sure — that  my  dear  father 


36S  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

died  not  by  your  hand  at  all  but  by  the  hand  and  the  will 
of  God." 

"  Helena !  Helena !  "  cried  Gordon,  and  in  the  tempest 
of  his  love  and  the  overwhelming  sense  of  his  boundless  re- 
lief, he  Hung  his  arms  about  her  and  covered  her  face 
with  kisses. 

One  long  moment  of  immeasurable  joy  they  were  per- 
mitted to  know,  and  then  the  hand  of  fate  snatched  at 
them  again. 

From  their  intoxicating  happiness  they  were  awakened 
by  a  voice.  It  was  only  the  voice  of  the  muezzin  calling 
to  midday  prayers,  but  it  seemed  to  be  reproaching  them, 
separating  them,  tearing  them  asunder,  reminding  them 
of  where  they  were  now  and  what  they  were,  and  that  God 
was  over  them. 


-#?^=^fe^^^=^=^h==^=^ 

-   ;;  J-  ^  ^rT-  r  ^'f"^  - 

^""^  r-^^^n^ 

AL-LA-IIU  AK-BAR.  AL    LA     -      -      UU  AK-BAR. 

God  is  Most  Great!  God  is  Most  Great! 

Their  lips  parted ;  their  arms  fell  away  from  each 
other,  and,  irresistibly,  simultaneously,  as  if  by  an  impulse 
of  the  same  heart,  they  dropped  to  their  knees  to  pray  for 
pardon. 

The  voice  of  the  muezzin  ceased,  and  in  the  silence  of 
the  following  moment  they  heard  a  soft  footstep  coming 
behind. 

It  was  Ishmael.  He  did  not  speak  to  either  of  them, 
but  seeing  them  on  their  knees,  at  the  hour  of  midday 
prayers,  he  stepped  up  and  knelt  between. 


XXII 

WiTEX  Gordon  had  time  to  examine  the  new  situation  in 
which  he  found  himself  he  saw  that  he  was  now  in  a  worse 
case  than  before. 

It  had  been  an  inexpressible  relief  to  realise  that  he  was 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  369 

not  the  first  cause  of  the  General's  death,  and  therefore 
that  conscience  did  not  require  him  to  go  into  Cairo  in 
order  to  protect  Ishmael  from  the  consequences  of  a  crime 
he  did  not  commit.  But  no  sooner  had  he  passed  this  great 
crisis  than  he  was  brought  up  against  a  great  test.  What 
was  it  to  him  that  he  could  save  his  life  if  he  had  to  lose 
Helena  ? 

Helena  was  now  Ishmael's  wife — betrothed  to  him  by 
the  most  sacred  pledges  of  Mohammedan  law.  If  the  bar- 
rier of  blood  which  had  kept  him  from  Helena  had  been 
removed,  the  barrier  of  marriage  which  kept  Helena  from 
him  remained. 

"What  can  we  do?"  he  asked  himself,  and  for  a  long 
time  he  saw  no  answer. 

In  the  fierce  struggle  that  followed,  honour  and  duty- 
seemed  to  say  that  inasmuch  as  Helena  had  entered  into 
this  union  of  her  own  free  will — however  passively  acqui- 
escing in  its  strange  conditions — she  must  abide  by  it,  and 
he  must  leave  her  where  she  was  and  crush  down  his  con- 
suming passion,  which  was  an  unholy  passion  now.  But 
honour  and  duty  are  halting  and  timorous  guides  in  the 
presence  of  love,  and  when  Gordon  came  to  think  of 
Helena  as  the  actual  wife  of  Ishmael,  he  was  conscious  of 
nothing  but  the  flame  that  was  burning  at  his  heart's  core. 

Kemembering  what  Helena  had  told  him,  and  what  he 
had  seen  since  he  came  to  that  house,  he  reminded  himself 
that  after  all  the  marriage  was  only  a  marriage  pro  forma, 
a  promise  made  under  the  mysterious  compulsion  of  Fate, 
a  contract  of  convenience  and  perhaps  generosity  on  the 
one  side,  and  on  the  other  side  of  dark  and  calculating  de- 
signs -which  would  not  bear  to  be  thought  of  any  longer, 
being  a  result  of  the  blind  leading  of  awful  passions  under 
circumstances  of  the  most  irresistible  provocation. 

When  he  came  to  think  of  love  he  was  dead  to  every- 
thing else.  Ishmael  did  not  love  Helena,  whereas  he,  Gor- 
don, loved  her  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  and  strength. 
She  was  everything  in  life  to  him,  and  thougii  he  might 
have  gone  to  his  death  without  her  it  was  impossible  to  live 
and  leave  her  behind  him. 


370  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

Thinking:  so,  he  began  to  conjure  up  the  picture  of  a 
time  wlien  Tshinael,  under  the  influence  of  Helena's  beauty 
and  charm,  might  perliaps  forget  the  bargain  between 
them,  and  claim  his  rights  as  a  husband ;  and  then  the 
thought  of  hor  beautiful  head,  with  its  dark  curling  locks, 
as  it  lay  in  his  arms  that  day,  lying  in  the  arms  of  the 
Arab,  with  Ishmael's  swarthy  face  above  her,  so  tortured 
him  that  it  swept  away  every  other  consideration. 

"  It  must  not,  shall  not,  cannot  be !  "  he  told  himself. 

And  that  brought  him  to  the  final  thought  that  since 
he  loved  Helena,  and  since  Helena  loved  him  and  not  her 
husband,  their  position  in  Ishmael's  house  was  utterly  false 
and  wrong  and  could  not  possibly  continue. 

"  It  is  not  fair  even  to  Ishmael  himself,"  he  thought. 

And  when,  struggling  with  his  conscience,  he  asked 
himself  how  he  was  to  put  an  end  to  the  odious  and  mis- 
erable situation,  he  concluded  at  once  that  he  would  go 
boldly  to  Ishmael  and  tell  him  the  whole  story  of  Helena's 
error  and  temptation,  thereby  securing  his  sympathy  and 
extricating  all  of  them  from  the  position  in  which  they 
were  placed. 

"  Anything  will  be  better  than  the  present  state  of 
things,"  he  thought,  as  he  reflected  upon  the  difficult  and 
delicate  task  he  intended  to  undertake. 

But  after  a  moment  he  saw  that  while  it  would  be  hard 
to  explain  Helena's  impulse  of  vengeance  to  the  man  who 
had  been  the  object  of  it,  to  tell  him  of  the  message  she 
had  sent  into  Cairo  would  be  utterly  impossible. 

"  I  cannot  say  anything  to  Ishmael  about  that,"  he 
thought,  and  the  only  logical  sequence  of  ideas  was  that 
he  could  not  say  anything  to  Ishmael  at  all. 

This  left  him  with  only  one  conclusion — that  inasmuch 
as  it  was  impossible  that  he  and  Helena  could  remain  any 
longer  in  that  house,  and  equally  impossible  that  they 
could  leave  it  with  Ishmael's  knowledge  and  consent,  there 
was  nothing  for  them  to  do  but  to  fly  away. 

He  found  it  hard  to  reconcile  himself  to  the  idea  of  a 
secret  flight.  The  very  thought  of  it  seemed  to  put  them 
into  the  position  of  adulterers,  deceiving  an  unsuspecting 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  371 

husband.  But  when  he  remembered  the  scene  in  the  guest- 
room that  day,  the  moment  of  overpowering  love,  the  irre- 
sistible kiss,  and  then  the  crushing  sense  of  duplicity,  as 
Ishmael  entered  and  without  a  thought  of  treachery  knelt 
between  them,  he  told  himself  that  at  any  cost  whatsoever 
he  must  put  an  end  to  the  false  position  in  which  they 
lived. 

"  We  must  do  it  soon — the  sooner  the  better,"  he 
thought. 

Though  he  had  lived  so  long  with  the  thought  of  losing 
Helena,  that  kiss  had  in  a  moment  put  his  soul  and  body 
into  a  flame.  He  knew  that  his  love  was  blinding  him  to 
certain  serious  considerations,  and  that  some  of  these 
would  rise  up  later  and  perhaps  accuse  him  of  selfishness 
or  disloyalty  or  worse.  But  he  could  only  think  of  Helena 
now,  and  his  longing  to  possess  her  made  him  dead  to 
everything  else. 

In  a  fever  of  excitement  he  began  to  think  out  plans 
for  their  escape  and  reflecting  that  two  days  had  still  to 
pass  before  the  train  left  Khartoum  by  which  it  had  been 
intended  that  he  should  travel  in  his  character  as  Ishmael's 
messenger,  he  decided  that  it  was  impossible  for  them  to 
wait  for  that. 

They  must  get  away  at  once  by  camel  if  not  by  rail. 
And  remembering  Osman,  his  former  guide  and  companion, 
he  concluded  to  go  over  to  the  Gordon  College  and  secure 
his  aid. 

Having  reached  this  point  he  asked  himself  if  he  ought 
not  to  obtain  Helena's  consent  before  going  any  further, 
but  no,  he  would  not  wait  even  for  that.  And  then,  re- 
membering how  utterly  crushed  she  was,  a  victim  of  storm 
and  tempest,  a  bird  with  a  broken  wing,  he  assumed  the 
attitude  of  strength  toward  her,  telling  himself  she  was  a 
woman  after  all,  and  it  was  his  duty  as  a  man  to  think  and 
to  act  for  her. 

So  he  set  out  in  haste  to  see  Osman,  and  when,  on  his 
way  through  the  town,  he  passed  (without  being  recog- 
nised) a  former  comrade  in  khaki,  a  Colonel  of  Lancers, 
whose   life    had    been    darkened    by    the    loss    of   his    wife 


372  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

through  the  treachery  of  a  brother  officer,  he  felt  no 
quahns  at  all  at  the  thought  of  taking  Helena  from  Ish- 
mael. 

"  Ours  is  a  different  case  altogether,"  he  said,  and  then 
he  told  himself  that  their  life  would  be  all  the  brighter  in 
the  future  because  it  had  had  this  terrible  event  in  it. 

It  was  late  and  dark  when  he  returned  from  the  Gordon 
College,  and  then  old  Malimud's  house  was  as  busy  as  a  fair 
with  people  coming  and  going  on  errands  relating  to  the 
impending  pilgrimage,  but  he  watched  his  opportunity  to 
speak  to  Helena,  and  as  soon  as  Ishmael,  who  was  more 
than  commonly  animated  and  excited  that  night,  had  dis- 
missed his  followers  and  gone  to  the  door  to  drive  them 
home,  he  approached  her  and  whispered  in  her  ear : 

"  Helena !  " 

"Yes?" 

"  Can  you  be  ready  to  leave  Khartoum  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  made  no  reply.  It  seemed  to  her  an 
incredible  happiness  that  they  were  really  to  go  away  to- 
gether. But  quickly  collecting  her  wandering  thoughts 
she  answered: 

"  Yes,  I  can  be  ready." 

"  Then  go  down  to  the  Post  Landing.  I  shall  be  there 
with  a  launch." 

"  Yes,  yes !  "     Her  heart  was  beating  furiously. 

"  Osman,  the  guide  who  brought  me  here,  will  be  wait' 
ing  with  camels  on  the  other  side  of  the  river." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !  " 

"  We  are  to  ride  as  far  as  Atbara,  and  take  train  from 
there  to  the  Red  Sea." 

"And  what  then?" 

"  God  knows  wliat  then.  We  must  wait  for  the  direc- 
tion of  fate.     America,  perhaps,  as  we  always  hoped  and 


intended, 


jj 


She  looked  quickly  round,  then  took  his  face  between 
her  hands  and  kissed  him. 

"  To-morrow  morning  at  four  o'clock,"  she  whispered. 
"  At  four,"  he  repeated. 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  373 

A  thousand  thoughts  were  flashing  through  her  mind 
but  she  asked  no  further  questions,  and  at  the  next  moment 
she  went  off  to  her  own  quarters. 

The  door  of  her  room  was  ajar,  and  the  face  of  the 
Arab  woman,  who  was  within,  doing  something  with  the 
clothes  of  the  child,  seemed  to  wear  the  same  mocking 
smile  as  before;  but  Helena  was  neither  angry  nor  alarmed. 
When  she  asked  herself  if  the  woman  had  seen  or  heard 
what  had  taken  place  between  Gordon  and  herself  no  dan- 
gers loomed  before  her  in  relation  to  their  flight. 

Her  confidence  in  Gordon — his  strength,  his  courage, 
his  power  to  protect  her — was  absolute.  If  he  intended  to 
take  her  away  he  would  do  so,  and  not  Ishmael  or  all  the 
Arabs  on  earth  would  stop  him. 


XXIII 

Gordon  did  not  allow  himself  to  sleep  that  night,  lest 
he  should  not  be  awake  when  the  hour  came  to  go.  The 
room  he  shared  with  Ishmael  was  large  and  it  had  one 
window  looking  to  the  river  and  another  to  Khartoum. 
Through  these  windows,  which  were  open,  he  heard  every 
noise  of  the  desert  town  by  night. 

Sometimes  there  was  the  dead  measured  thud  of  a 
camel's  tread  on  the  unpaved  streets;  sometimes  the  light 
jolt  of  a  donkey's  hoofs;  at  intervals  there  were  the  faint 
and  distant  cries  of  the  night-watchmen  from  various  parts 
of  the  town,  intersecting  the  air  like  cross  currents  of  wire- 
less telegraphy,  and  once  an  hour  there  was  the  sharp  gut- 
tural voice  of  Black  Zogal  at  the  door  of  their  own  house, 
calling  the  confession  of  faith. 

"  There  is  no  god  but  God — no  god  but  God !  " 

It  had  been  late  when  Ishmael  came  to  bed,  and  even 
then,  being  excited  and  in  high  spirits,  and  finding  Gordon 
still  awake,  he  had  talked  for  a  long  time  in  the  darkness 
of  his  preparations  for  the  forthcoming  pilgrimage  and  his 
hopes   of  its  progress  across  the  desert — three  and  a  half 


374  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

miles  an  hour,  fourteen  hours  a  day,  making  a  month  for 
the  journey  altogether.  But  finding  that  Gordon  did  not 
reply,  and  thinking  he  must  be  sleepy,  he  wished  him  a  good- 
night and  a  blessed  morning,  and  then,  with  a  few  more 
words  that  were  trustful,  affectionate,  warm-hearted  and 
brotherly,  he  fell  asleep. 

It  was  after  twelve  by  this  time,  and  though  Gordon  in- 
tended to  rise  at  three  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  few  hours 
between  would  never  end.  He  listened  to  the  measured 
breathing  of  the  sleeping  man  and  counted  the  cries  outside, 
but  the  time  passed  as  if  with  feet  of  lead. 

It  was  never  quite  dark  and  through  the  luminous  dark- 
blue  of  the  southern  night,  fretted  with  stars,  nearly  every- 
thing outside  could  be  dimly  seen.  Of  all  lights,  that  is  the 
one  most  conducive  to  thought,  and  in  spite  of  himself 
Gordon  could  not  help  thinking.  The  obstinate  questions 
which  he  had  been  able  to  crush  down  during  the  day  were 
now  rising  to  torment  him. 

"  \Miat  will  happen  when  this  household,  which  is  now 
asleep,  awakes  in  the  morning  ? "  he  asked  himself. 

He  knew  quite  well  what  would  happen.  He  would  soon 
be  missed.  Helena  would  be  missed,  too,  and  it  would  be 
concluded  that  they  had  gone  together.  But  after  he  had 
banished  the  picture  which  rose  to  his  mind's  eye  of  the 
confusion  that  would  ensue  on  the  discovery  of  their  flight, 
he  set  himself  to  defend  it. 

It  was  true  that  he  was  breaking  the  pledge  he  had  made 
to  the  people  when  he  undertook  to  go  into  Cairo,  but  he 
had  made  his  promise  under  a  mistake  as  to  his  own  position, 
and  therefore  it  was  not  incumbent  upon  him  to  keep  it  now 
that  he  knew  the  truth. 

It  was  true  that  Helena  was  breaking  the  betrothal  which 
she  had  entered  into  with  Ishmael,  but  she,  too,  had  acted 
under  an  error,  and  therefore  her  marriage  was  not  binding 
upon  her  conscience. 

But  do  what  he  would  to  justify  himself  he  could  not 
shake  off  a  sense  of  deceit  and  even  of  treachery.  He 
thought  of  Ishmael  and  how  he  had  heaped  kindness  and 
honour  upon  him  since  he  came  to  Khartoum.    He  thought 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  375 

of  Helena  and  of  the  shame  with  which  her  flight  would 
overwhelm  the  man  who  considered  himself  her  husband. 

"  Go  on !  "  something  seemed  to  say  in  a  taunting  whis- 
per. "  Fly  away !  Seek  your  own  happiness  and  think  of 
nothing  else!  This  is  what  you  came  to  Khartoum  for! 
This  is  what  your  great  hopes  and  aims  amount  to !  Leave 
this  good  man  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  you  have 
brought  upon  him!  Let  him  go  into  Cairo,  innocent  though 
he  is,  and  die  by  the  cruel  error  of  fate!  That's  good! 
That's  brave !    That's  worthy  of  a  man  and  a  soldier !  " 

Against  thoughts  like  these  he  tried  to  set  the  memory 
of  old  Mahmud's  words  at  the  meeting  of  the  Sheikhs: 
*'  Man  cannot  resist  his  destiny.  If  God  wills  that  you 
should  go  into  Cairo  you  will  go  and  God  will  protect  you !  " 

But  there  was  really  only  one  way  to  reconcile  himself 
to  what  he  intended  to  do,  and  that  was  to  think  of  Helena 
and  to  keep  her  beautiful  face  constantly  before  him.  She 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  and  she  would  be  awake 
now — the  only  other  person  in  the  house  who  was  not 
asleep — thinking  of  him  and  waiting  for  the  hour  when  they 
were  to  escape. 

The  luminous  dark  blue  of  the  air  died  into  the  soft 
red  of  early  dawn,  the  "  Wahhed "  of  the  night-watchmen 
became  less  frequent,  and  the  call  of  Black  Zogal  stopped 
altogether.  It  was  now  three  o'clock  and  Gordon,  who  had 
not  undressed,  rose  to  a  sitting  position  on  his  bed. 

This  brought  him  face  to  face  with  Ishmael,  whose 
angerib  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  The  Arab 
was  sleeping  peacefully.  He,  too,  had  lain  down  in  his 
clothes,  having  to  rise  early,  but  he  had  unrolled  his  turban, 
leaving  nothing  on  his  head  but  his  Mecca  skull-cap.  which 
made  him  look  like  the  picture  of  a  saintly  Pope.  The  dim 
light  that  was  filtering  through  the  windows  rested  on  him 
as  he  lay  in  his  white  garments  under  a  white  sheepskin. 
There  was  a  look  of  serenity,  of  radiance,  almost  of  divin- 
ity in  his  tranquil  face. 

Gordon  felt  as  if  he  were  a  thief  and  a  murderer — steal- 
ing from  and  stabbing  the  man  who  loved  and  trusted  him. 
He   had   an   almost    irresistible   impulse  to  waken   Ishmael 


37G  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

there  and  then  and  tell  him  plainly  what  he  was  about  to 
do.  But  the  thought  of  Helena  came  back  again,  and  he  re- 
membered that  that  was  quite  impossible. 

At  length  he  rose  to  go.  He  was  still  wearing  Hafiz's 
slippers,  but  he  found  himself  stepping  on  his  toes  to  deaden 
the  sound  of  his  tread.  When  he  got  to  the  door  he  opened 
it  carefully  so  as  to  make  no  noise;  but  just  at  that  moment 
the  sleeping  man  stirred  and  began  to  speak. 

In  the  toneless  voice  of  sleep  but  nevertheless  with  an 
accent  of  affection  w^hich  Gordon  had  never  heard  from  him 
before,  Ishmael  said : 

"Eani!     J/i/Eani!" 

Gordon  stood  and  listened,  not  daring  to  move.  After 
a  moment  all  was  quiet  again.  There  was  no  sound  in  the 
room  but  Ishmael's  measured  breathing  as  before. 

How  Gordon  got  out  at  last  he  never  quite  knew.  When 
he  recovered  his  self-possession  he  was  in  the  guest-room, 
drawing  aside  the  curtain  that  covered  the  open  doorway 
and  feeling  the  cool,  fresh,  odourless  desert  air  on  his  hot 
face  and  in  his  nostrils. 

He  saw  Black  Zogal  stretched  out  at  the  bottom  of  the 
wooden  steps,  fast  asleep  and  with  his  staff  beside  him. 
The  insurgent  dawn  was  sweeping  up,  but  all  was  silent  both 
within  and  without.  Save  for  the  Nubian's  heavy  snoring 
there  was  not  a  sound  about  the  house. 

Feeling  his  throat  to  be  parched,  he  turned  back  to  the 
water-niche  for  a  drink,  and  while  he  was  lifting  the  can  to 
his  lips  his  eye  fell  on  a  letter  which  had  been  left  for  him 
there,  having  come  by  the  train  which  arrived  late  last  night 
and  then  been  specially  delivered  after  he  had  gone  to  bed. 

The  letter,  which  was  in  a  black-bordered  envelope,  was 
addressed: 

"  SiiEiKH  Omar  Benani  in  the  care  of  Ishmael  Ameer." 

At  first  sight  the  handwriting  struck  him  like  a  familiar 
face,  but  before  he  had  time  to  recognise  it,  he  was  conscious 
of  a  crushing  sense  of  fatality,  a  vague  but  almost  heart- 
breaking impression  that  while  he  had  been  spending  the 
long  black  hours  of  the  night  in  building  up  hopes  of  flying 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE  , WORLD  377 

away  with  Helena,  this  little  packet  of  sealed  paper  had  all 
the  time  been  waiting  outside  his  door  to  tell  him  they 
could  not  go. 

He  took  it  and  opened  it  with  trembling  fingers  and  read 
it  at  a  glance  as  one  reads  a  picture.  It  was  from  Hafiz 
and  it  told  him  that  his  mother  was  dead. 

Then  all  the  pent-up  pain  and  shame  of  the  night  rolled 
over  him  like  a  breaking  wave,  and  he  dropped  down  onto 
the  nearest  seat-  and  wept  like  a  child. 


XXIV 

Contrary  to  Gordon's  surmise  Helena  had  slept  soundly, 
with  the  beautiful  calm  confidence  of  one  who  relied  ab- 
solutely upon  him  and  thought  her  troubles  were  over;  but 
she  awoke  at  half-past  three  as  promptly  as  if  an  alarm 
clock  had  awakened  her. 

The  arms  of  Ayesha  were  then  closely  encircling  her 
neck  and  it  was  with  difiiculty  that  she  liberated  herself 
without  awakening  the  child  also,  but  as  soon  as  she  had 
done  so  she  could  not  resist  an  impulse  to  kiss  the  little  one, 
so  boundless  was  her  happiness  and  so  entirely  at  that  mo- 
ment had  she  conquered  the  sense  that  Ishmael's  innocent 
daughter  had  been  a  constant  torture  to  her. 

Then  dressing  rapidly  in  her  usual  mixed  Eastern  and 
Western  costume,  and  throwing  a  travelling  cloak  over  her 
shoulders  instead  of  her  Indian  veil,  but  giving  no  thought 
to  the  other  belongings  which  she  must  leave  behind,  she 
stepped  lightly  out  of  the  sleeping-room. 

The  moment  she  entered  the  guest-room  she  heard  a 
moan,  and  before  realising  where  it  came  from,  she  said: 

"Who's   there?" 

Then  Gordon  lifted  his  tear-stained  face  to  her  face,  and, 
without  speaking,  held  out  the  letter  which  hung  from  his 
helpless  hand. 

She  took  it  and  read  it  with  a  sense  of  overwhelming 
disaster,  while  Gordon,  with  that  access  of  grief  which  at  the 


378  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

first  moment  of  a  great  sorrow  the  presence  of  a  loved  one 
brings,  heaped  reproaches  upon  himself,  as  if  all  that  he 
had  done  at  the  hard  bidding  of  his  conscience  had  been  a 
sin  and  a  crime. 

"Poor  mother!  My  poor,  dear  mother!  It  was  I  who 
made  her  last  days  unhappy." 

Half  an  hour  went  by  in  this  way,  and  the  time  for  going 
passed.  Helena  dared  not  tell  him  that  their  opportunity 
for  flight  was  slipping  away — it  seemed  like  an  outrage  to 
think  of  that  now — so  she  stood  by  his  side,  feeling  power- 
less to  comfort  him  and  dazed  by  the  blow  that  had  shattered 
their  hopes. 

Then  Black  Zogal,  being  awakened  by  the  sound  of 
Gordon's  weeping,  came  in  with  his  wild  eyes,  and  after  him 
came  Abdullah,  and  then  Zenoba,  who,  gathering  an  idea  of 
trouble,  went  off  to  awaken  Ishmael  and  old  Mahmud,  so 
that  in  a  little  while  the  whole  of  the  Arab  household  were 
standing  round  Gordon  as  he  sat  doubled  up  on  the  edge  of 
a  divan. 

When  Ishmael  heard  what  had  happened  he  was  deeply 
moved,  and  sitting  down  by  Gordon's  side  he  took  one  of 
his  hands  and  smoothed  it,  while  in  that  throbbing  voice 
which  went  to  the  heart  of  everybody,  and  with  a  look  of 
suifering  in  his  swarthy  face  and  luminous  black  eyes,  he 
spoke  some  sjonpathetic  words. 

"  All  life  ends  in  death,  my  brother.  This  world  is  a 
place  of  going,  not  of  staying.  The  mystery  of  pain — who 
can  fathom  it  ?  Life  would  be  unbearable  but  for  one 
thought — that  God  is  over  all.  He  rules  everything  for  the 
best.  Yes,  believe  me,  everything.  I  have  had  my  hours  of 
sorrow,  too,  but  I  have  always  found  it  so." 

After  a  while  Gordon  was  able  to  control  his  grief,  and 
then  Ishmael  asked  him  if  he  would  not  read  aloud  his  let- 
ter. With  some  reluctance  Gordon  did  so,  but  it  required 
all  his  self-control  to  repeat  his  mother's  message. 

Leaving  out  the  usual  Arabic  salutations,  he  began  where 
Hafiz  said : 

"  With  a  heavy  heart  I  have  to  tell  you,  my  most  dear 
brother,  that  your  sweet  and  saintly  mother  died  this  morn- 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  379 

ing.  She  had  boon  sinking  ever  since  you  went  away,  but 
the  end  came  so  quickly  that  it  took  us  all  by  surprise." 

Gordon's  voice  thickened  and  Ishmael  said: 

"  Take  your  time,  brother." 

"  She  had  the  consolation  of  her  religion  and  I  think 
she  passed  in  peace.  There  was  only  one  thing  clouded  her 
closing  hours.  On  her  death-bed  she  was  constantly  ex- 
pressing an  earnest  hope  that  you  might  all  be  reunited — 
you  and  she  and  your  father  and  Helena,  who  are  now  so  far 
apart." 

"  Take  time,  oh,  my  brother,"  said  Ishmael,  and  seeing 
that  Helena  also  was  moved,  he  took  her  hand  too,  as  if  to 
strengthen  her. 

Thus  he  sat  between  them,  comforting  both,  while  Gor- 
don in  a  husky  voice  struggled  on. 

"  Not  long  before  she  died  she  wished  to  send  you  a 
message,  but  the  power  of  life  was  low  in  her  and  she  could 
not  write,  except  to  sign  her  name  (as  you  see  below),  and 
then  she  did  not  know  where  you  were  to  be  found.  But 
my  mother  promised  her  that  I  should  take  care  that  what- 
ever she  said  should  come  to  your  hands,  and  these  were 
the  words  she  sent :  '  Tell  my  boy  that  my  last  thoughts 
were  about  him.  Though  I  am  sorry  he  took  the  side  of 
the  false — the  false  prophet '  " 

"  Go  on,  brother,  go  on,"  said  Ishmael  in  his  soft  voice. 

" — say  I  am  certain  he  did  what  he  thought  was  right. 
Be  sure  you  tell  him  I  died  happy,  because — because  I  know 
I  shall  see  him  again.  If  I  am  never  to  see  him  in  this 
world  I  will  do  so  in  the  world  to  come.  Say — say  I  shall 
be  waiting  for  him  there.  And  tell  him  it  will  not  seem 
long." 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Gordon  came  to  the  end,  for 
his  eyes  were  full  of  tears  and  his  throat  was  parched  and 
tight,  and  he  would  have  broken  down  altogether  but  for 
the  sense  of  Helena's  presence  by  his  side. 

Ishmael  was  now  more  deeply  moved  than  before. 

"  How  she  must  have  loved  you !  "  he  said,  and  then  he 
began  to  speak  of  his  own  mother  and  what  she  had  done  for 
him. 


380  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  She  was  only  a  poor,  ignorant  woman,  perhaps,  but 
she  died  to  save  me,  and  I  loved  her  with  all  my  heart." 

At  that  the  two  black  servants,  Abdullah  and  Zogal,  who 
had  been  standing  before  Gordon  in  silence,  tried  to  utter 
some  homely  words  of  comfort,  and  old  Mahmud,  wiping  his 
wet  eyes,  said : 

"  May  God  be  merciful  to  your  mother,  my  son,  and 
forgive  her  all  her  sins.'' 

"  She  was  a  saint — she  never  had  any,"  replied  Gordon, 
whereupon  the  Arab  nurse,  who  alone  of  all  that  household 
had  looked  on  at  this  scene  with  dry  and  evil  eyes,  said  bit- 
terly : 

"  Nevertheless  she  died  as  a  Christian  and  an  unbeliever, 
therefore  she  cannot  look  for  mercy." 

Then  Helena's  eyes  flashed  like  fire  into  the  woman's 
face,  and  Gordon  felt  the  blood  rush  to  his  head,  but  Ishmael 
was  before  them  both. 

"  Zenoba,  ask  pardon  of  God,"  he  said,  and  before  the 
thunder  of  his  voice  and  the  majesty  of  his  glance  the  Arab 
woman  fell  back. 

"  Heed  her  not,  my  brother,"  said  Ishmael,  turning  back 
to  Gordon,  and  then  he  added : 

"  We  all  serve  under  the  same  General,  and  though  some 
of  us  wear  uniform  of  red,  and  some  of  brown,  and  some  of 
blue,  he  who  serves  best  is  the  best  soldier.  In  the  day  of 
victory  will  our  General  ask  us  the  colour  of  our  garments  ? 
No!" 

At  that  generous  word  Gordon  burst  into  tears  once 
more,  but  Ishmael  said : 

"  Don't  weep  for  one  who  has  entered  into  the  ways  of 
Paradise." 

When  Gordon  had  regained  his  composure  Ishmael  asked 
him  if  he  would  read  part  of  the  letter  again,  but  knowing 
what  part  it  would  be — the  part  about  himself — he  tried  to 
excuse  himself,  saying  he  was  not  fit  to  read  any  more. 

"  Then  the  Rani  will  read,"  said  Ishmael,  and  far  as 
Helena  would  have  fled  from  the  tragic  ordeal  she  could  not 
escape  from  it.  So  in  her  soft  and  mellow  voice  she  read 
on  without  faltering  until  she  came  to  her  own  name,  and 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  381 

then  she  stopped  and  the  tears  began  to  trickle  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Go  on,"  said  Ishmael;  "don't  be  afraid  of  what  fol- 
lows." 

And  when  Helena  came  to  "  false  prophet "  he  turned 
to  Gordon   and  said: 

"  Your  dear  mother  didn't  know  how  much  I  love  you — 
But  she  knows  now,"  he  added,  "  for  the  dead  know  all." 

There  was  no  further  interruption  until  Helena  had  fin- 
ished, and  then  Ishmael  said: 

"  She  didn't  know,  either,  what  work  the  Merciful  had 
waiting-  for  you  in  Khartoum.  Perhaps  you  did  not  know 
yourself.  Something  called  you  to  come  here.  Something 
drew  you  on.  Which  of  us  has  not  felt  like  that  ?  But 
God  guides  our  hearts — the  Merciful  makes  no  mistakes." 

Nobody  spoke,  but  Gordon's  eyes  began  to  shine  with  a 
light  which  Helena,  who  was  looking  at  him,  had  never  seen 
in  them  before. 

"  All  the  same,"  continued  Ishmael,  "  you  hear  what  your 
mother  says,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  keep  you  against  your 
will.  If  you  wish  to  go  back  now  none  shall  reproach  you. 
Speak,  Omar,  do  you  wish  to  leave  me  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence  in  which  Gordon 
hesitated  and  Helena  waited  breathlessly  for  his  reply. 
Then  with  a  great  effort  Gordon  answered: 

"  No." 

"  El  Hamdullillah !  "  cried  the  two  black  sei'vants,  and 
then  Ishmael  sent  Zogal  into  the  town  and  the  camp  to 
say  that  the  faithful  would  bid  farewell  to  Omar  in  the 
mosque  the  following  night. 

That  evening  after  sunset,  instead  of  preaching  his 
usual  sermon  to  the  people  squatting  on  the  sand  in  front 
of  his  house,  Ishmael  read  the  prayers  for  the  dead,  while 
Gordon  and  Helena  and  a  number  of  the  Sheikhs  sat  on  the 
divans  in  the  guest-room. 

When  the  service  was  over,  and  the  company  was  break- 
ing up,  the  old  men  pressed  Gordon's  hand  as  they  were 
passing  out   and  said : 

"  May  God  give  you  compensation  !  " 


382  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone  Gordon  approached  Helena 
and  whispered  hurriedly: 

"I  must  speak  to  you  soon — where  can  it  be?" 

"  I  ought  to  go  to  the  water-women's  well  by  the  Goods 
Landing  to-morrow  morning,"  said  Helena. 

"At    what   hour?" 

"  Ten." 

"  I  shall  be  there,"  said  Gordon. 

His  eyes  were  still  full  of  the  strange  wild  light. 


XXV 

At  ten  o'clock  next  morning  Helena  was  at  the  well  by 
the  Goods  Landing  where  the  water-women  draw  water  in 
their  earthern  jars  to  water  the  gardens  and  the  streets,  and 
while  standing  among  the  gross  creatures  who,  with  their 
half-naked  bodies  and  stark-naked  souls,  were  crowding 
about  her  for  what  they  could  get,  she  saw  Gordon  coming 
down  in  his  Bedouin  dress  with  a  firm,  strong  step. 

His  flickering  steel-blue  eyes  were  as  full  of.  light  as 
when  she  saw  them  last,  but  that  vague  suggestion  of  his 
mother  which  she  had  hitherto  seen  in  his  face  was  gone, 
and  there  was  a  look  of  his  father  which  she  had  never  ob- 
served before. 

"  Let  us  walk  this  way,"  he  said,  indicating  a  road  that 
went  down  the  empty  and  unfrequented  tongue  of  land  that 
leads  to  the  point  at  which  the  blue  Xile  and  the  white 
Nile  meet. 

"  Helena,"  he  said,  stepping  closely  by  her  side,  and 
speaking  almost  in  her  ear,  "  there  is  something  I  wish  to 
say — to  ask — and  everything  depends  on  your  answer — what 
we  are  to  do  and  what  is  to  become  of  us." 

"What  is  it?"  said  she,  with  trembling  voice. 

"  When  our  escape  from  Khartoum  was  stopped  by  the 
letter  telling  me  of  my  mother's  death,  I  thought  at  first  it 
was  only  an  accident — a  sad,  strange  accident  that  it  should 
arrive  at  that  moment." 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  383 

"And  don't  you  think  so  now?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  I  think  it  was  a  divine  intervention." 

She  glanced  up  at  him.  "  He  is  going  to  talk  about  the 
betrothal,"  she  thought. 

But  he  did  not  do  so.  In  his  intense  and  poignant  voice 
he  continued: 

"  When  I  proposed  that  we  should  go  away  together,  I 
supposed  your  coming  here  had  been  due  to  a  mistake — that 
my  coming  here  had  been  due  to  a  mistake — that  your 
sending  that  letter  into  Cairo  and  my  promising  to  take 
Ishmael's  place  had  been  due  to  a  mistake — that  it  had  all 
been  a  mistake — a  long,  miserable  line  of  mistakes." 

"  And  wasn't  it  ?  "  she  asked,  walking  on  with  her  eyes 
to  the   sand. 

"  So  far  as  we  are  concerned,  yes,  but  with  God — with 
God  Almighty,  mistakes  do  not  happen." 

They  walked  some  paces  in  silence,  and  then  in  a  still 
more  poignant  voice  he  said : 

"  Don't  you  believe  that,  Helena  ?  Wasn't  it  true — what 
Ishmael  said  yesterday?  Can  you  possibly  believe  that  we 
have  been  allowed  to  go  on  as  we  have  been  going — both 
of  us — without  anything  being  meant  by  it  ?  All  a  cruel, 
stupid,  merciless,  Almighty  blunder?" 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  think  of  what  would  have  happened  if  we  had 
been  allowed  to  carry  out  our  plan.  Ishmael  would  have 
gone  into  Cairo  as  he  originally  intended,  and  he  would 
have  been  seized  and  executed  for  conspiracy.  What  then? 
The  whole  country — yes,  the  whole  country  from  end  to  end 
— would  have  risen  in  revolt.  The  sleeping  terror  of  re- 
ligious hatred  would  have  been  awakened.  It  would  have 
been  the  affair  of  El  Azhar  over  again — only  worse,  a 
thousandfold  worse." 

Again  a  few  steps  in  silence,  and  then : 

"  The  insurrection  would  have  been  suppressed  of  course, 
but  think  of  the  bloodshed,  the  carnage!  On  the  other 
hand " 

She  saw  what  was  coming  and  with  difficulty  she  walked 
steadily. 


384  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  On  the  other  hand  if  I  go  into  Cairo  as  I  have  prom- 
ised to  do — as  I  am  expected  to  do — there  can  be  no  such 
result.  The  moment  I  arrive  I  shall  be  arrested,  and  the 
moment  1  am  arrested,  I  shall  be  identified  and  handed  over 
to  the  military  authorities  to  be  tried  for  my  offences  as  a 
soldier.  There  will  be  no  religious  significance  in  my 
punishment,  therefore  there  will  be  no  fanatical  frenzy  pro- 
voked by  it  and  consequently  there  can  be  no  bloodshed. 
Don't  you  see  that,  Helena  ? " 

She  could  not  answer;  she  felt  sick  and  faint.  After  a 
moment  he  went  on  in  the  same  eager,  enthusiastic  voice : 

"  But  that's  not  all.  There  is  something  better  than 
that." 

"Better — do  you  say  better?" 

"  Something  that  comes  closer  to  us  at  all  events — 
Do  you  believe  in  omens,  Helena  ?  That  some  mystic  sense 
tells  us  things  of  which  we  have  no  proof,  no  evidence  ? " 

She  bent  her  head  without  raising  her  eyes  from  the  sand. 

"  Well,  I  have  a  sense  of  some  treachery  going  on  in 
Cairo  that  Ishmael  knows  nothing  about,  and  I  believe  it 
was  just  this  treachery  which  led  to  the  idea  of  his  going 
there  at  all." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  thinking  he  read  her 
thought,  he  said  quickly : 

"  Oh,  I  know — I've  heard  about  the  letters  of  the  Ulema 
— that  those  suggestions  of  assassination,  and  so  forth,  were 
signed  by  the  simple  old  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar.  But  isn't 
it  possible  that  a  subtler  spirit  inspired  them? — Helena?" 

"Yes,"  she  faltered. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  one  day  in  the  Citadel  I  said 
it  was  not  really  Judas  Iscariot  who  betrayed  Jesus,  and 
that  there  was  somebody  in  Egypt  now  M-ho  was  doing  what 
the  High  Priest  of  the  Jews  did  in  Palestine  two  thousand 
years  ago  ? " 

"The  Grand  Cadi?" 

"  Yes  !  Something  tells  me  that  that  subtle  old  scoundrel 
is  playing  a  double-sword  game — with  the  Ulema  and  with 
the  Government — and  that  his  object  is  not  only  to  destroy 
Ishmael,  but,  by  awakening  the  ancient  religious  terror,  to 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  385 

ruin  England  as  well — tempt  her  to  ruin  her  prestige  at  all 
events." 

They  had  reached  the  margin  of  the  river  and  he  stopped. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  faltered  again. 

"  Well,  I  am  a  British  soldier  still,  Helena,  even  though 
I  am  a  disgraced  one,  and  I  want  to — I  want  to  save  the 
good  name  of  my  country." 

She  could  not  speak — she  felt  as  if  she  would  choke. 

"  I  want  to  save  the  good  name  of  the  Consul-General 
also.  He  is  my  father,  and  though  he  no  longer  thinks  of 
me  as  his  son,  I  want  to  save  him  from — from  himself." 

"  I  can  do  it,  too,"  he  added  eagerly.  "  At  this  moment 
I  am  perhaps  the  only  man  who  can.  I  am  nobody  now — 
only  a  runaway  and  a  deserter — but  I  can  cross  the  line  of 
fire  and  so  give  warning." 

"  But,  Gordon,  don't  you  see " 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  Helena.  I 
must  die  for  it,  yes !  Xobody  wants  to  do  that,  if  he  can 
help  it,  but  I  can't !     Listen !  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his — they  seemed  to  be  ablaze  with 
a  kind  of  frenzy. 

"  Death  was  the  penalty  of  what  I  did  in  Cairo,  and  if 
I  did  not  stay  there  to  be  court-martialled  and  condemned, 
was  it  because  I  wanted  to  save  my  life?  No,  I  thought 
there  was  nothing  left  in  my  life  that  made  it  worth  saving. 
It  was  because  I  wanted  to  give  it  in  some  better  cause. 
Something  told  me  I  should,  and  when  I  came  to  Khartoum 
I  didn't  know  what  fate  was  before  me,  or  what  I  had  to  do, 
but  I  know  now.  This  is  what  I  have  to  do,  Helena — to 
go  back  to  Cairo  instead  of  Ishmael  and  so  save  England 
and  Egypt  and  my  father  and  these  poor  Moslem  people  and 
prevent  a  world  of  bloodshed." 

Then  Helena,  who  in  her  nervousness  had  been  scraping 
her  feet  on  the  sand,  said  in  a  halting,  trembling  voice : 

"  Was  this  what  you  wanted  to  say  to  me,  Gordon? " 

"  Yes,  but  now  I  want  you  to  say  something  to  we." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  she  asked,  trembling. 

"  To  tell  me  to  go." 

It  was  like  a  blow.     She  felt  as  if  she  would  fall.  • 


386  THE    WHITE    TEOPHET 

"  I  cannot  go  unless  you  send  me,  Helena — not  as  things 
stand  now — leaving  you  here — under  these  conditions — in  a 
place  like  this — alone.     Therefore  tell  me  to  go,  Helena." 

Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  She  thought  of  all  the  hopes 
she  had  so  lately  cherished,  all  the  dreams  of  the  day  before 
of  love  and  a  new  life  among  quite  difPerent  scenes — sweet 
scenes  full  of  the  smell  of  new-cut  grass,  the  rustling  of 
trees,  the  swish  of  the  scythe,  the  songs  of  birds  and  the 
ringing  of  church  bells  instead  of  this  empty  and  arid  wilder- 
ness— and  then  of  the  ruin,  the  utter  wreck  and  ruin,  that 
everything  was  falling  to. 

"  Tell  me  to  go,  Helena — tell  me,"  he  repeated. 

It  was  crushing.     She  could  not  bear  it. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  said.  "  Don't  ask  me  to  do  such  a 
thing.  Just  when  we  were  going  away,  too — expecting  to 
escape  from  all  this  miserable  tangle  and  to  be  happy  at 
last " 

"  But  should  we  be  happy,  Helena  ?  Say  we  escaped  to 
Europe,  America,  Australia,  anywhere  far  enough  away, 
and  what  I  speak  of  were  to  come  to  pass,  should  we  be 
happy — should  we  ?  " 

"  We  should  be  together  at  all  events,  and  we  should  be 
able  to  love  each  other " 

"  But  could  w'e  love  each  other  with  the  memory  of  all 
that  misery — the  misery  we  might  have  prevented — left  here 
behind  us  ?  " 

"  At  least  we  should  be  alive  and  safe  and  well." 

"  Should  we  be  well  if  our  whole  life  became  abominable 
to  us,  Helena  ? —    On  the  other  hand " 

"  On  the  other  hand  you  want  us  to  part — never  to  see 
each  other  again  ?  " 

"  It's  hard — I  know  it's  hard — but  isn't  that  better  than 
to  become  odious  in  each  other's  eyes  ? " 

A  cruel  mixture  of  anger  and  sorrow  and  despair  took 
possession  of  her,  and,  choking  with  emotion,  she  said: 

"  I  have  nobody  but  you  now,  yet  you  want  me  to  tear 
my  heart  out — to  sacrifice  the  love  that  is  my  only  happi- 
ness, my  only  refuge —  Oh,  I  cannot  do  it !  You  are  asking 
rae  to  send  you  into  the  jaws  of  death  itself — that's  it — the 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  387 

very  jaws  of  death  itself — and  I  cannot  do  it.  I  tell  you  I 
cannot,  I  cannot!  There  is  no  woman  in  the  world  who 
could." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  after  this  vehement  cry, 
then  in  a  low  tone  he  said : 

"  Every  soldier's  wife  does  as  much  when  she  sends  her 
husband  into  battle,  Helena." 

"  Ah ! " 

She  caught  her  breath  as  if  a  hand  from  heaven  had 
smitten  her. 

"Am  I  not  going  into  battle  now?  And  aren't  you  a 
soldier's  daughter?" 

There  was  another  moment  of  silence  in  which  he 
looked  out  on  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  Blue  Nile  and 
she  gazed  through  clouded  eyes  on  the  sluggish  waves  of  the 
White. 

Something  had  suddenly  begun  to  rise  in  her  throat. 
This  was  the  real  Gordon,  the  hero  who  had  won  battles, 
the  soldier  who  had  faced  death  before,  and  she  had  never 
known  him  until  now! 

A  whirlwind  of  sensation  and  emotions  seemed  to  race 
through  her  soul  and  body.  She  felt  hot,  she  felt  cold,  she 
felt  ashamed,  and  then  all  at  once  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
being  lifted  out  of  herself  by  the  spirit  of  the  man  beside 
her.    At  length  she  said,  trying  to  speak  calmly: 

"  You  are  right,  quite  right,  you  are  always  right,  Gor- 
don. If  you  feel  like  that  about  going  into  Cairo  you  must 
go.    It  is  your  duty.    You  have  received  your  orders." 

"  Helena !  "  he  cried  in  a  burst  of  joy. 

"  You  mustn't  think  about  me,  though.  I'm  sorry  for 
what  I  said  awhile  ago,  but  I'm  better  now.  I  have  always 
thought  that  if  the  time  ever  came  to  me  to  see  my  dearest 
go  into  battle,  I  should  not  allow  myself  to  be  afraid." 

"  I  was  sure  of  you,  Helena,  quite  sure." 

"  This  doesn't  look  like  going  into  battle,  perhaps,  but 
it  may  be  something  still  better — going  to  save  life,  to  pre- 
vent bloodshed." 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  he  said,  and  struggling  to  control  herself, 
she  continued: 


388  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  You  mustn't  think  about  leaving  me  here,  either. 
AYhatever  happens  in  this  place  I  shall  always  remember 
that  you  love  me,  so — so  nothing  else  will  matter." 

"  Nothing — nothing !  '" 

"  And  though  it  may  be  hard  to  think  that  you  have 
gone  to  your  death,  and  that  I — that  in  a  sense  I  have  been 
the  cause   of   it " 

"  But  you  haven't,  Helena !  Your  hand  may  have  penned 
that  letter,  but  a  higher  Power  directed  it." 

She  looked  at  him  with  shining  eyes  and  answered  in 
a  firmer  voice,  and  with  a  proud  lift  of  her  beautiful 
head: 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  Gordon.  I  only  know  that 
you  want  to  give  your  life  in  a  great  cause.  And  though 
they  have  degraded  you  and  driven  you  out  and  hunted  you 
down  like  a  dog,  you  are  going  to  die  like  a  man  and  an 
Englishman." 

"  And   you   tell   me  to   do   it,   Helena  ? " 

"  Yes,  for  I'm  a  soldier's  daughter,  and  in  my  heart  I'm 
a  soldier's  wife  as  well,  and  I  shouldn't  be  worthy  to  be 
either  if  I  didn't  tell  you  to  do  your  duty,  whatever  the 
consequences  to  me." 

"  My  brave  girl !  "  he  cried,  clutching  at  her  hand. 

Then  they  began  to  walk  back. 

As  they  walked  they  encouraged  each  other. 

"  We  are  on  the  right  road  now,  Helena." 

"  Yes,  we  are  on  the  right  road  now,  Gordon." 

"  We  are  doing  better  than  running  away." 

"  Yes,  we  are  doing  better  than  running  away." 

"  The  train  leaves  Khartoum  this  evening  and  I  sup- 
pose they  want  to  say  farewell  to  me  in  the  mosque  at  sun- 
set—  You'll  be  strong  to  the  last  and  not  break  down  when 
the  time  comes  for  me  to  go?" 

"  No,  I'll  not  break  down — when  the  time  comes  for  you 
to  go." 

But  for  all  her  brave  show  of  courage  her  eyes  were 
filling  fast  and  the  tears  were  threatening  to  fall. 

"  Better  leave  me  now,"  she  whispered.  "  Let  me  go  back 
alone." 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  3S9 

He  was  not   sorry  to  let  her  go  ahead,  for  at  sight  of 
her  emotion  his  own  was  mastering  him. 

''  Will  she  keep  up  to  the  end  ?  "  he  asked  himself. 


XXVI 

As  the  hours  of  the  day  passed  on,  Helena  became  pain- 
fully aware  that  her  courage  was  ebbing  away. 

Unconsciously  Ishmael  was  adding  to  her  torture.  Soon 
after  the  midday  meal  he  called  on  her  to  write  to  his  dic- 
tation a  letter  which  Gordon  was  to  take  into  Cairo. 

"  One  more  letter,  O  Rani !  only  one,  before  our  friend 
and  brother  leaves  us." 

It  was  to  the  Ulema,  telling  them  of  the  change  in  his 
plans  and  begging  them  to  be  good  to  Gordon. 

"  Trust  him  and  love  him.  Receive  him  as  you  would 
receive  me,  and  believe  that  all  he  does  and  says  is  accord- 
ing to  my  wish  and  word." 

Helena  had  to  write  this  letter.  It  was  like  writing 
Gordon's  death-warrant. 

Later  in  the  day,  seeing  her  idle,  nibbling  the  top  of  the 
reed  pen  Avhich  she  held  in  her  trembling  fingers,  Ishmael 
called  for  the  kufiah. 

"  Where  is  the  kutiah,  O  Rani ! — the  kufiah  that  was  to 
disguise  the  messenger  of  God  from  his  enemies?" 

And  when  Helena,  in  an  effort  to  escape  from  that 
further  torture,  protested  that  in  Gordon's  case  a  new  kufiah 
was  not  essential,  because  he  wore  the  costume  of  a  Bedouin 
already,  Ishmael  replied : 

"  But  the  kufiah  he  wears  now  is  white  and  every  official 
in  Khartoum  has  seen  it.  Therefore  another  is  necessary, 
and  let  it  be  of  another  colour." 

At  that,  with  fiendish  alacrity,  the  Arab  woman  ran  off 
for  a  strip  of  red  silken  wool  and  Helena  had  to  shape  and 
stitch  it. 

It   was  like  stitching  Gordon's   shroud. 

The  day  seemed  to  fly  on  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  the  sun 
26 


390  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

began  to  sink,  the  shadows  to  lengthen  on  the  desert  sand, 
and  the  time  to  approach  for  the  great  ceremony  of  the 
leave-taking  in  the  mosque.  Helena  was  for  staying  at 
home,  but  Ishmael  would  not  hear  of  it. 

"  N'ay,  my  Rani,"  he  said.  "  In  the  court-yard  after 
prayers  we  must  say  farewell  to  Omar,  and  you  must  clothe 
him  in  the  new  kufiah  that  is  to  hide  him  from  his  foes. 
Did  you  not  promise  to  do  as  much  for  me?  And  shall  it 
be  said  that  you  grudge  the  same  honour  to  my  friend  and 
brother?" 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  Ishmael  having  gone  off  hand 
in  hand  with  Gordon,  and  old  Mahmud  and  Zenoba  and 
Ayesha  and  the  two  black  servants  having  followed  him, 
Helena  put  on  a  veil  for  the  first  time  since  coming  to 
Khartoum,  and  made  her  way  to  the  mosque. 

The  streets  of  the  town  as  she  passed  through  them 
seemed  to  be  charged  with  an  atmosphere  of  excitement 
that  was  little  short  of  frenzy,  but  the  court-yard,  when  she 
had  crossed  the  threshold,  was  like  the  scene  of  some  wild 
[phantasmagoria. 

A  crowd  of  men  and  women,  squatting  about  the  walls 
of  the  open  space,  were  strumming  on  native  drums,  playing 
on  native  pipes  and  uttering  the  weird,  monotonous  ulula- 
tion  that  is  the  expression  of  the  Soudanese  soul  in  its  hours 
of  joy. 

A  moment  later  Helena  was  in  the  gallery,  the  people 
had  made  way  for  her,  and  she  was  sitting  as  before  by  the 
Arab  woman  and  the  child.  Overhead  was  a  brazen,  blood- 
red,  southern  sky;  below  were  a  thousand  men  on  crimson 
carpets,  some  in  silks,  some  in  rags,  all  moving  and  moaning 
like  tumultuous  waves  in  a  cavern  of  the  sea. 

The  Reader  in  the  middle  of  the  mosque  was  chanting 
the  Koran,  the  muezzin  in  the  minaret  was  calling  to  pray- 
ers, the  men  on  the  floor  were  uttering  their  many-throated 
responses,  and  the  very  walls  of  the  mosque  itself  seemed  to 
be  vibrating  with  religious  fervour. 

A  moment  after  Helena  had  taken  her  seat  Ishmael  en- 
tered, followed  by  Gordon,  and  the  people  gathered  round 
them   to   kiss   their  hands  and  garments.     Helena  felt  her 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  391 

head  reel,  she  wanted  to  cry  out,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
she  controlled  herself. 

Then  the  Reader  stood  up  in  his  desk  and  recited  an 
invocation  and  the  people  repeated  it  after  him: 

"  God  is  Most  Great !  " 

"  God  is  Most  Great !  " 

"  There  is  no  god  but  God !  " 

"  Mohammed  is  His  Prophet !  " 

"  Listen  to  the  preacher !  " 

"  Amen !  " 

"  Amen !  " 

After  that  Ishmael  rose  from  his  knees  before  the  Kibleh, 
took  the  wooden  sword  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit,  ascended 
to  the  topmost  step,  and,  after  a  preliminary  prayer,  began 
to  preach. 

Never  had  Helena  seen  him  so  eager  and  excited,  and 
every  passage  of  his  sermon  seemed  to  increase  both  his 
own  ecstasy  and  the  emotion  of  his  hearers. 

Helena  hardly  heard  his  words,  so  far  away  were  her 
thoughts  and  so  steadfastly  were  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  other 
figure  in  front  of  the  Kibleh,  but  a  general  sense  of  their 
import  was  beating  on  her  brain  as  on  a  drum. 

All  religions  began  in  poverty  and  ended  in  corruption. 

It  had  been  so  with  Islam,  which  began  with  the  break- 
ing of  idols  and  went  on  to  the  worship  of  wealth,  the  quest 
of  power,  the  lust  of  conquest — Caliphs  seeking  to  establish 
their  claim  not  by  election  and  the  choice  of  God,  but  by 
theft  and  murder. 

It  had  been  so  with  Christianity,  which  began  in  meek- 
ness and  humility  and  went  on  to  pride  and  persecution — • 
Holy  Fathers  exchanging  their  cells  for  palaces,  and  their 
poverty  for  pomp,  forgetting  the  principle  of  their  great 
Master,  whose  only  place  in  their  midst  was  in  pictured 
windows,  on  vaporous  clouds,  blessing  with  outstretched 
arms  a  Church  which  favoured  everything  he  fought  against 
and  a  world  which  practised  everything  he  condemned. 

"  What  is  the  result,  oh,  my  brothers  ?  War,  wealth,  lux- 
ury, sensuality,  slavery,  robbery,  injustice  and  oppression! 

"  Listen  to  the  word  of  the  Holy  Koran :    <  And  Pharaoh 


392  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

made  proclamation  among  liis  people,  saying.  Is  not  this 
Kingdom  of  Egypt  mine  and  the  rivers  thereof?' 

"  But  not  in  Egypt  only,  nor  alone  under  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  King  who  lives  across  the  seas,  but  all  the  world 
over,  wheresoever  human  empires  are  founded,  wheresoever 
men  claim  the  earth  and  the  fruits  of  the  earth  and  the 
treasures  that  lie  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth — impoverishing 
the  children  of  men  to  obtain  them  or  destroying  their  souls 
that  they  may  deck  and  delight  their  bodies — there  the 
Pharaohs  of  this  world  are  saying,  '  Is  not  this  Kingdom  of 
Egypt  mine  and  the  rivers  thereof  ? ' 

"  But  the  earth  and  the  fruits  of  the  earth  and  the 
treasures  of  the  earth  are  God's,  my  brothers,  and  He  is 
coming  to  reclaim  them,  and  to  right  the  wrongs  of  the 
oppressed,  to  raise  up  the  downtrodden  and  to  comfort  the 
broken-hearted." 

The  mosque  seemed  to  rock  with  the  shouts  which  fol- 
lowed these  words,  and  as  soon  as  the  cries  of  the  people  had 
subsided,  the  voice  of  Ishmael,  now  louder  and  more  tremu- 
lous than  before,  rang  through  its  vaults  again. 

"  Deep  in  the  heart  of  man,  my  brothers,  is  the  expecta- 
tion of  a  day  when  the  Almighty  will  send  his  Messenger 
to  purify  and  pacify  the  world  and  to  banish  intolerance 
and  wrong.  The  Jews  look  for  the  Messiah,  the  Christians 
for  the  divine  man  of  Judaea,  and  we  that  are  Moslems  for 
the  Mahdi   and  the   Christ. 

"  In  all  climes  and  ages,  amid  all  sorrows  and  sufferings, 
sunk  in  the  depths  of  ignorance,  sold  into  slavery,  the  poor- 
est of  the  poor,  the  most  miserable  among  the  most  miser- 
able of  the  world,  humanity  has  yet  cherished  that  great 
expectation.  Heal  as  life,  real  as  death,  real  as  wells  of 
water  in  a  desert  land  to  man  on  his  earthly  pilgrimage,  is 
the  hope  of  a  Deliverer  from  oppression  and  injustice — and 
who  shall  say  it  is  vain  and  false?  It  is  true,  my  brothers, 
true  as  the  sky  rolling  overhead.  Our  Deliverer  is  coming! 
He  is  coming  soon  I     He  is  coming  7iow!" 

Ishmael's  tremulovis  voice  had  by  this  time  broken  into 
hysterical  sobs  and  the  responses  of  his  hearers  had  risen 
to  delirious  cries. 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  393 

More  of  the  same  kind  followed  which  Helena  did  not 
hear,  but  suddenly  she  was  awakened  to  full  consciousness 
of  what  was  going  on  about  her  by  hearing  Ishmael  speak  of 
Gordon  and  the  people  answering  him  with  rapturous  shouts : 

"  He  is  not  of  our  race,  yet  no  doubt  enters  into  our 
hearts  of  his  fidelity." 

"  El  Hamdullillah !  " 

"  He  is  not  of  our  faith,  yet  he  will  be  true  to  God  and 
his  people." 

"  Allah !  "     "  Allah !  " 

"  For  us  he  has  left  his  home,  his  country,  and  his 
kindred." 

"Allah!"     "Allah!"     "Allah!" 

"  For  us  he  is  going  into  the  place  of  danger." 

"Allah!"    "Allah!"    "Allah!" 

"  What  says  the  Lord  in  the  Holy  Koran  ? —  '  They 
therefore  who  had  left  their  country  and  suifered  for  my 
sake,  I  will  surely  bring  them  into  gardens  watered  by  rivers 
— a  reward  of  God.'  " 

"Allah!"    "Allah!"    "Allah!" 

"  The  Lord  bless  the  white  man  to  whom  the  black  man 
is  a  brother !  Bless  him  in  the  morning  splendour !  Bless 
him  in  the  still  of  night !  Bless  him  with  children — the  eye 
of  the  heart  of  man !  Bless  him  with  the  love  of  woman — 
the  joy  and  the  crown  of  life !  " 

"  Allah !  "    "  Allah !  "     "  Allah !  " 

"  And  may  the  Lord  of  majesty  and  might,  Who  has 
hitherto  covered  his  head  in  battle,  protect  and  preserve  him 
now !  " 

At  this  last  word  the  whole  company  of  men  on  the  floor 
below — men  in  silks  and  men  in  rags — rose  to  their  feet  as 
if  they  had  been  one  being  animated  by  one  heart,  and 
raising  their  arms  to  heaven,  cried : 

"Allah!"    "Allah!"     "Allah!"     "Allah!" 

Helena  felt  as  if  some  one  had  taken  her  by  the  throat. 
To  see  these  poor,  emotional.  Eastern  children,  with  their 
brown  and  black  faces,  streaming  with  tears  and  full  of  the 
love  of  Gordon,  shouting  down  God's  blessing  upon  him, 
was  stifling  her. 


394  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

It  was  like  singing:  liis  dirge  before  lie  was  dead. 

During  the  next  few  minutes  Helena  was  vaguely  aware 
that  Ishmael  had  come  down  from  the  pulpit;  that  the 
Reader  was  reciting  prayers  again;  that  the  men  on  the 
crimson  carpets  were  bowing,  kneeling,  prostrating  them- 
selves and  putting  their  foreheads  to  the  floor;  and  finally 
that  the  whole  congregation  was  rising  and  surging  out  of 
the  mosque. 

When  she  came  to  herself  once  more  somebody  by  her 
side — it  was  Zenoba — was  touching  her  shoulder  and  saying : 

"  The  Master  is  in  the  court -yard  and  he  is  calling  for 
you — come !  " 

The  scene  ovitside  was  even  more  tumultuous.  Instead 
of  the  steady  solemnity  of  the  service  within  the  mosque, 
there  was  the  tum-tumming  of  the  drums,  the  screeling  of 
the  pipes,  and  the  lu-luing  of  the  women. 

The  great  enclosure  was  densely  crowded,  but  a  space 
had  been  cleared  in  the  centre  of  the  court -yard,  where  the 
Ulcma  of  Khartoum,  in  their  gray  farageeyahs,  were  ranged 
in  a  wide  half-circle.  In  the  mouth  of  this  half-circle 
Gordon  was  standing  in  his  Bedouin  dress  with  Ishmael  by 
his  side. 

Silence  was  called  and  then  Ishmael  gave  Gordon  his 
last  instructions  and  spoke  his  last  words  of  farewell. 

"  Tell  our  brothers,  the  Ulema  of  Cairo,"  he  said,  "  that 
we  are  following  close  behind  you,  and  when  the  time  comes 
to  enter  the  city  we  shall  be  lying  somewhere  outside  their 
walls.  Let  them  therefore  put  a  light  on  their  topmost 
height — on  the  minaret  of  the  mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali — 
after  the  call  to  prayers  at  midnight — and  we  shall  take  that 
as  a  sign  that  the  light  of  the  world  is  with  you,  that  the 
Expected  One  has  appeared,  and  that  we  may  enter  in  peace, 
injuring  no  man,  being  injured  by  none,  without  malice 
toward  any  and  with  charity  to  all." 

Then  seeing  Helena  as  she  came  out  of  the  mosque,  veiled 
and  with  her  head  down,  he  called  on  her  to  come  forward. 

"  Xow  do  as  you  have  always  designed  and  intended,"  he 
said.  "  Cover  our  friend  and  forerunner  with  the  kufiah  you 
have  made  for  him,  that  until  his  work  is  done  and  the  time 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  395 

has  come  to  reveal  himself,  he  may,  like  the  angel  of  the 
Lord,  be  invisible  to  his  foes." 

What  happened  after  that  Helena  never  quite  knew — 
only  that  a  way  had  been  made  for  her  through  the  throng 
of  wild-eyed  people  and  that  she  was  standing  by  Gordon's 
side. 

Down  to  that  instant  she  had  intended  to  bear  herself 
bravely  for  Gordon's  sake  if  not  for  her  own,  but  now  a 
hundred  cruel  memories  came  in  a  flood  to  sap  away  her 
strength — memories  of  the  beautiful  moments  of  their  love, 
of  the  little  passages  of  their  life  together  that  had  been  so 
tender  and  so  sweet.  In  vain  she  tried  to  recover  the  spirit 
with  which  he  had  inspired  her  in  the  morning,  to  think  how 
much  better  it  was  that  he  should  die  gloriously  than  live 
in  disgrace,  to  feel  the  justice,  the  necessity,  the  inevitable- 
ness  of  what  he  was  going  to  do. 

It  was  impossible.  She  could  think  of  nothing  but  that 
she  was  seeing  Gordon  for  the  last  time,  that  he  was  leaving 
her  behind  him,  among  these  Allah-intoxicated  Arabs,  that 
he  was  going  away,  not  into  battle — with  its  chance  of 
victory  and  its  hope  of  life — but  to  death,  certain  death, 
perhaps  shameful  death,  and  that — say  what  he  would  abovit 
Pate  and  Destiny  or  the  will  of  God — she  herself  was  send- 
ing him  to  his  doom. 

She  felt  that  the  tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks 
under  her  thin  white  veil,  and  that  Gordon  must  see  them, 
but  she  could  not  keep  them  back,  and  though  she  had 
promised  not  to  break  down  she  knew  that  at  that  last 
moment,  in  the  face  of  the  death  that  was  about  to  separate 
them,  the  dauntless  heroine  of  the  morning  was  nothing  bet- 
ter now  than  a  poor,  weak,  heart-broken  woman. 

Heantime  the  drums  and  the  pipes  and  the  lu-luing  had 
begun  again  and  she  was  conscious  that  under  the  semi- 
savage  din  Gordon  was  speaking  to  her  and  comforting  her. 

"  Keep  up !  Be  brave  !  Nobody  knows  what  may  happen. 
I'll  write.     You  shall  hear  from  me  again." 

He  had  taken  off  the  white  kufiah  which  he  had  hitherto 
worn  and  she  could  see  his  face.  It  was  calm — the  calmest 
man's  face  in  all  that  vast  assembly. 


390  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

The  sight  of  his  face  strengthened  her,  and  suddenly  a 
new  element  entered  into  the  half-barbaric  scene — an 
element  that  was  half  human  and  half  divine.  These  poor 
half-civilised  people  thought  Gordon  was  going  to  risk  his 
life  for  them,  that  he  was  going  to  die — deliberately  to  die 
for  them — to  save  them  from  themselves,  from  the  con- 
sequences of  their  fanaticism,  the  panic  of  their  rulers,  and 
the  fruits  of  the  age-long  hatred  that  had  separated  the 
black  man  from  the  white. 

Helena  felt  her  bosom  heave,  her  nerves  twitch,  her 
fingers  dig  trenches  in  her  palms,  and  her  thoughts  fly  up 
to  scenes  of  sacrifice  which  men  talk  of  with  bated  breath. 

"  If  he  can  do  it  why  can't  I  ?  "  she  asked  herself,  and, 
taking  the  red  kufiah,  which  the  Arab  woman  was  thrusting 
into  her  hands,  with  a  great  effort  she  put  it  onto  Gordon 
— over  his  head  and  under  his  chin  and  across  his  shoulders 
and  about  his  waist. 

It  was  like  clothing  him  for  the  grave. 

Every  eye  had  been  on  her  and  when  her  work  was  done, 
Ishmael,  who  was  now  weeping  audibly,  demanded  silence 
and  called  on  the  Ulema  to  recite  the  first  Surah : 

"  Praise  be  to  God,  the  Lord  of  all  creatures " 

When  the  weird  chanting  had  come  to  an  end  the  hoarse 
voices  of  the  people  broke  afresh  into  loud  shouts  of  "  Al- 
lah!"   "Allah!"    "El  Hamdullillah!" 

In  the  midst  of  the  wild  maelstrom  of  religious  frenzy 
which  followed — the  tum-tumming  of  the  drums,  the  screel- 
ing  of  the  pipes  and  the  ululation  of  the  women — Helena 
felt  her  hand  grasped,  and  heard  Gordon  speaking  to  her 
again : 

"  Don't  faint !  Don't  be  afraid !  Don't  break  down  at 
the  last  moment." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  she  answered,  but  whether  with  her 
voice  or  only  with  her  lips  she  never  knew. 

Still  the  drums,  the  pipes,  the  zaghareet  and  the  delirious 
cries  of  "  Allah !  "  And  to  show  Gordon  that  she  felt  no 
fear,  that  she  was  not  going  to  faint  or  to  break  down, 
Helena  also,  in  the  fierce  tension  of  the  moment,  cried : 

"  Allah !    El  Ilamdullillah !  " 


THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORLD  397 

"That's  right!  That's  brave!  God  bless  you!"  whis- 
pered the  voice  by  her  side.     And  again  a  moment  later : 

"  God  bless  and  protect  you !  " 

After  that  she  heard  no  more.  She  saw  the  broad  gate 
of  the  court-yard  thrown  open — she  saw  a  long  streak  of 
blood-red  sand  outside — she  saw  Gordon  turn  away  from  her 
— she  saw  Ishmael  embrace  and  kiss  him — she  saw  the  surg- 
ing mass  of  hot  and  streaming  black  and  brown  faces  close 
about  him — and  then  a  loud  wind  seemed  to  roar  in  her  ears, 
the  earth  seemed  to  give  way  under  her  feet,  the  brazen 
sky  seemed  to  reel  about  her  head,  and  again  she  felt  as  if 
she   were   falling,   falling,   falling   into   a   bottomless  abyss. 

When  she  recovered  consciousness  the  half-barbaric  scene 
was  over,  and  she  was  being  carried  into  the  silence  of  her 
own  room  in  the  arms  of  Ishmael,  who  with  many  words  of 
tender  endearment  was  laying  her  gently  on  her  bed. 


XXVII 

That  day,  under  the  two  crackling  flags,  the  Crescent 
and  the  Union  Jack,  Lady  Mannering  had  given  a  party  in 
the  garden  of  the  Palace  of  the  Sirdar. 

The  physiognomy  of  the  garden  had  changed  since  "  the 
martyr  of  the  Soudan  "  walked  in  it.  Where  scraggy  mimosa 
bushes  and  long  camel  grasses  had  spurted  up  through 
patches  of  sand  and  blotches  of  baking  earth  there  were 
the  pleasant  lawns,  the  sycamores,  the  date-trees  and  the  blue 
streams  of  ruiming  water.  And  where  the  solitary  soldier, 
with  his  daily  whitening  head  had  paced  to  and  fro  his 
face  to  the  ground,  smoking  interminable  cigarettes,  there 
was  a  little  group  of  officers  of  the  military  administration, 
with  their  charming  wives  and  daughters,  a  Coptic  priest, 
a  Greek  priest,  a  genial  old  Protestant  clergyman,  and  a 
number  of  European  visitors,  chiefly  English  girls,  wearing 
the  lightest  of  white  summer  costumes  and  laughing  and 
chattering  like  birds. 

In  pith  helmets  and  straw  hats  Lady  Mannering's  guests 
27 


398  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

strolled  about  in  the  sunshine  9?  drank  tea  at  tables  that 
were  set  under  the  cool  shadow  of  spreading  trees,  while,  at 
a  little  distance,  the  band  of  a  black  regiment,  the  Tenth 
Soudanese  (sons  and  grandsons  of  the  very  men  who  in  the 
gray  dawn  of  a  memorable  morning  had  rushed  in  a  wild 
horde  into  those  very  grounds  for  their  orgy  of  British 
blood),  played  selections  from  the  latest  comic  operas  of 
London  and  New  York. 

The  talk  was  the  same  all  over  the  gardens — of  the  new 
Mahdi  and  his  doings. 

"  Married  to   an  Indian  Princess,  you  say !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  1  Quite  an  emancipated  person,  too !  A  sort 
of  thirty-second  cousin  of  the  Rani  of  Jhansi.  It  seems  she 
was  educated  by  an  English  governess,  kicked  over  the 
traces,  became  a  sort  of  semi-religious  suffragette  and  fol- 
lowed her  holy  man  to  Egypt  and  the  Soudan." 

"How  very  droll!     It  is  too  amusing!" 

The  Sirdar,  who  had  gone  indoors  some  time  before,  re- 
turned to  the  garden  dressed  for  a  journey. 

"Going  away,  your  Excellency?" 

"  Yes,  for  a  few  weeks — to  the  lower  Nile." 

His  ruddy,  good-natured  face  was  less  bright  than  usual 
and  his  manner  was  noticeably  less  buoyant.  A  few  of  his 
principal  officials  gathered  about  him  and  he  questioned 
them  one  by  one. 

"  Any  fresh  news,  Colonel  ? "  he  said,  addressing  the 
Governor  of  the  city. 

"  No,  sir.  A  sort  of  sing-song  to-day  in  honour  of  the 
Bedouin  Sheikh — that's  all  I  hear  about." 

But  the  Financial  Secretary  spoke  of  further  difficulties 
in  the  gathering  of  taxes — the  land  tax,  the  animal  tax  and 
the  tax  on  the  date-trees  not  having  yet  come  in — and  then 
the  Inspector-General  repeated  an  opinion  he  had  previously 
expressed  that  everything  gave  evidence  of  a  projected  pil- 
grimage, presumably  in  a  northerly  direction  and  almost 
certainly  to   Cairo. 

The  Governor  of  the  city  corroborated  this,  and  added 
that  his  Zabit,  his  police  officer,  had  said  that  Ishmael 
Ameer,  on  passing  to  the  mosque  that  day,  had  been  saluted 


THE    LIGHT    OF   THE    WORLD  399 

in  the  streets  by  a  screaming  multitude  as  the  "  Messenger  '* 
and  the  "  Anointed  One." 

"  It's  just  as  I  say,"  said  the  Inspector-General.  "  These 
holy  men  develop  by  degrees.  This  one  will  hoist  his  flag 
as  soon  as  he  finds  himself  strong  enough — unless  we  stop 
him  before  he  goes  farther  and  the  Soudan  is  lost  to  civilisa- 
tion." 

"  Well,  we'll  see  what  Nuneham  says,"  said  the  Sirdar, 
and  at  that  moment  his  Secretary  came  to  say  that  the 
launch  was  ready  at  the  boat-landing  to  take  him  across  the 
river  to  the  train. 

The  Sirdar  said  good-bye  to  his  guests,  to  his  officers  and 
to  his  wife,  and  as  he  left  the  garden  of  the  palace  the 
Soudanese  band,  sons  of  the  Mahdi's  men,  played  the  num- 
ber which  goes  to  the  words — 

"  They  never  proceed  to  follow  that  light. 
But   always  follow  nie." 

Half  an  hour  afterw-ard,  while  the  Sirdar's  black  body- 
guard were  ranged  up  on  the  platform  of  the  railway  station, 
and  his  black  servant  was  packing  his  luggage  into  his  com- 
partment, the  Governor-General  was  standing  by  the  door 
of  the  carriage  giving  his  last  instructions  to  his  General 
Secretary. 

"  Telegraph  to  the  Consul-General  and  say — ^but  please 
make  a  note  of  it." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  Secretary,  taking  out  his  pocket-book 
and  preparing  to  write. 

"  Think  it  best  to  go  down  myself  to  deal  personally  with 
matter  of  suspected  mutiny  in  native  army.  Must  admit 
increasing  gravity  of  situation.  Man  here  is  undoubtedly 
acquiring  name  and  influence  of  Mahdi,  so  time  has  come 
to  consider  carefully  what  we  ought  to  do.  Signs  of  in- 
tended pilgrimage,  probably  in  northerly  direction,  enormous 
numbers  of  camels,  horses  and  donkeys  having  been  gathered 
up  from  various  parts  of  country  and  immense  quantities 
of  food  stuffs  being  bought  for  desert  journey.  Am  leaving 
to-night  and  hope  to  arrive  in  four  days." 


400  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Four  days,"  repeated  the  Secretary,  as  he  came  to  an 
end. 

At  that  moment  a  tall  man  in  the  costume  of  a  Bedouin 
walked  slowly  up  the  platform.  His  head  and  most  of  his 
face  were  closely  covered  by  the  loose  woollen  shawl  which 
the  sons  of  the  desert  wear,  leaving  only  his  eyes,  his  nose, 
and  part  of  his  mouth  visible.  As  he  passed  the  Sirdar  he 
looked  sharply  at  him;  then,  pushing  forward  with  long 
strides  until  he  came  to  the  third-class  compartments,  he 
stepped  into  the  first  of  them,  which  was  full  of  coloured 
peojjle,  strident  with  high-pitched  voices  and  pungent  with 
Eastern  odours. 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  asked  the  Sirdar. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  the  Secretary.  "  I  thought 
at  first  it  was  their  Bedouin  Sheikh,  but  I  see  I  was  mis- 
taken." 

Then  came  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive  and  its  slow, 
rhythmic,  volcanic  throb.  The  guard  saluted  and  the  Sirdar 
got  into  his  carriage. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Graham !     Don't  forget  the  telegram." 

"  I'll  send  it  at  once —     In  cypher,  sir  ?  " 

"  In  cypher,  certainly." 

At  the  next  moment  the  Sirdar  and  Gordon  Lord,  travel- 
ling in  the  same  train,  were  on  their  way  to  Cairo. 


FOURTH  BOOK 
THE   COMING  DAY 


The  Consul-General  had  taken  a  firm  grasp  of  affairs. 
Every  morning  his  Advisers  and  Under-Secretaries  visited 
him,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  could  not  come  too  often  or 
say  too  much.  He  who  rules  the  machine  of  State  becomes 
himself  a  machine,  and  it  looked  as  if  Lord  Nuneham  were 
ceasing  to  be  a  man. 

Within  a  week  after  the  day  on  which  he  received 
Helena's  letter  he  was  sitting  in  his  bleak  library  walled 
with  Blue  Books,  with  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  and  the 
Adviser  to  the  same  department.  The  Minister  was  the 
sallow-faced  Egyptian  Pasha  whom  he  had  made  Regent  on 
the  departure  of  the  Khedive ;  the  Adviser  was  a  tall  young 
Englishman  with  bright-red  hair  on  which  the  red  tarboosh 
sat  strangely.  They  were  discussing  the  "  special  weapon  " 
which  had  been  designed  to  meet  special  needs.  The  Consul- 
General's  part  of  the  discussion  was  to  expound,  the  Ad- 
viser's was  to  applaud,  the  Minister's  was  to  acquiesce. 

The  special  weapon  was  a  decree.  It  was  to  be  known 
as  the  Law  of  Public  Security,  and  it  was  intended  to  em- 
power the  authorities  to  establish  a  Special  Tribunal  to  deal 
with  all  crimes,  offences  and  conspiracies  committed  or  con- 
ceived by  natives  against  the  State.  It  was  to  be  called 
at  any  time  and  in  any  place  on  the  request  of  the  Agent 
and  the  Consul-General  of  Great  Britain;  its  sentences, 
which  were  to  be  pronounced  forthwith,  were  not  to  be  sub- 
ject to  appeal ;  and  it  was  to  inflict  such  penalties  as  it 
might  consider  necessary,  including  the  death  penalty,  with- 
out being  bound  by  the  provisions  of  the  penal  code. 

"Drastic!"  said  the  Pasha,  with  a  sinister  smile. 

"  Necessary,"  said  the  Consul-General,  with  a  frown. 

The  Pasha  became  silent  again  while  the  virtual  ruler 
of  Egypt  went  on  to  say  that  the  state  of  the  country  de- 

403 


404  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

manded  that  the  Government  should  be  armed  with  special 
powers  to  meet  widespread  fanaticism  and  secret  conspiracy. 

"  Xo  one  deplores  more  than  I  do,"  he  said,  "  that  the 
existing  law  of  the  land  is  not  sufficient  to  deal  with  the 
new  perils  by  which  we  are  threatened,  but  it  is  not,  and 
therefore  we  must  make  it  stronger." 

"  Certainly,  my  lord,"  said  the  red-headed  figure  in  the 
fez,  and  again  the  sinister  face  of  the  Pasha  smiled. 

"  And  now  tell  me,  Pasha,"  said  the  Consul-General, 
"  how  long  a  time  will  it  take  to  pass  this  law  through  the 
Legislative  Council  and  the  Council  of  Ministers?" 

The  Pasha  looked  up  out  of  his  small  shrewd  eyes  and 
answered : 

"  Just  as  long  or  as  short  as  your  lordship  desires." 

And  then  the  Consul-General,  who  was  wiping  his  spec- 
tacles, put  them  deliberately  onto  his  nose,  looked  deliber- 
ately into  the  Pasha's  face,  and  deliberately  replied: 

"  Then  let  it  be  done  without  a  day's  delay,  your  Ex- 
cellency." 

A  few  minutes  afterward,  without  too  much  ceremony, 
the  Consul-General  had  dismissed  his  visitors  and  was  tear- 
ing open  a  number  of  English  newspapers  which  Ibrahim 
had  brought  into  the  room. 

The  first  of  them,  the  Times,  contained  a  report  of  the 
Mansion  House  Dinner,  headed  "  Unrest  in  the  East,  Im- 
portant Speech  by  Foreign  ^Minister." 

The  Consul-General  found  the  beginning  full  of  plati- 
tudes. Egypt  had  become  the  great  gate  between  the  Eastern 
and  Western  hemispheres.  It  was  essential  for  the  industry 
and  enterprise  of  mankind  that  that  gate  should  be  kept 
open,  and  therefore  it  was  necessary  that  Egypt  should  be 
under  a  peaceful,  orderly,  and  legal  Government. 

Then,  lowering  the  lights,  the  Minister  had  begun  to 
speak  to  slow  music.  While  it  was  the  duty  of  Government 
to  preserve  order,  it  was  also  the  duty  of  a  Christian  nation 
in  occupation  of  a  foreign  country  to  govern  it  in  the  inter- 
ests of  the  inhabitants,  and,  speaking  for  himself,  he 
thought  the  executive  authority  would  be  strengthened,  not 
weakened,  by  associating  the  people  with  the  work  of  govern- 


THE    COMING    DAY  405 

ment.  However  this  might  be,  the  public  could  at  least  be 
sure  that  as  long  as  the  present  Ministry  remained  in  power 
it  would  countenance  no  policy  on  the  part  of  its  representa- 
tives that  would  outrage  the  moral,  social,  and,  above  all, 
religious  sentiments  of  a  Moslem  people. 

The  Consul-General  flung  down  the  paper  in  disgust. 

"  Fossils  of  Whitehall !    Dunces  of  Downing  Street !  " 

For  some  minutes  he  tramped  about  the  room,  telling 
himself  again  that  he  didn't  care  a  straw  what  any  Govern- 
ment and  any  Foreign  Minister  might  say,  because  he  had 
a  power  stronger  than  either  at  his  back — the  public. 

This  composed  his  irritated  nerves  and  presently  he  took 
up  the  other  newspapers.  Then  came  a  shock.  Without  an 
exception  the  journals  accepted  the  Minister's  speech  as  a 
remonstrance  addressed  to  him,  and  reading  it  so  they 
sympathised  with  it. 

One  of  them  saw  that  Lord  Nuneham,  however  pure  and 
beneficent  his  intentions  might  be,  had  no  right  to  force  his 
ideals  upon  an  alien  race.  Another  hinted  that  he  was 
destroying  England's  prestige  in  her  Mohammedan  domin- 
ions, and,  if  permitted  to  go  on,  he  would  not  only  endan- 
ger the  peace  of  Egypt  but  also  the  safety  of  our  Indian 
Empire.  And  a  third,  advocating  the  establishment  of  rep- 
resentative institutions,  said  that  the  recent  arbitrary  action 
of  the  Consul-General  showed  in  glaringly  dangerous  col- 
ours the  faults  of  the  One-Man  Rule  which  we  granted  to 
the  King's  representative  while  we  denied  it  to  the  King 
himself. 

The  great  Proconsul  was,  for  some  moments,  utterly 
shaken — the  sheet-anchor  of  his  public  life  was  gone.  But 
within  half  an  hour  he  had  called  for  his  first  Secretary  and 
was  dictating  a  letter  to  the  Premier,  who  was  also  the 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs. 

"  Having  read  the  report  of  your  lordship's  speech  at  the 
Mansion  House,"  he  said,  "  I  find  myself  compelled  to  tell 
you  that  so  great  a  difference  between  your  lordship's  views 
and  mine  makes  it  difficult  for  me  to  remain  in  Egypt. 

"  I  take  the  view  that  nine-tenths  of  these  people  are 
still  in  swaddling  clothes  and  that  any  attempt  to  associate 


406  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

them  with  the  work  of  government  would  do  a  grave  in- 
justice to  the  inarticulate  masses  for  whom  we  rule  the 
country. 

"  I  also  take  the  view  that  Egypt  is  honeycombed  with 
agitators,  who,  masquerading  as  religious  reformers,  are 
sowing  sedition  against  British  rule,  and  that  the  only  way 
to  deal  with  such  extremists  is  by  stern  repression. 

"  Taking  these  views  and  finding  them  at  variance  with 
those  of  your  lordship,  I  respectfully  beg  to  tender  my  res- 
ignation of  the  post  of  H.  M.'s  Agent,  Consul-General  and 
Minister  Plenipotentiary  which  I  have  held  through  so  many 
long  and  laborious  years,  and  at  the  same  time  to  express 
the  hope  that  my  successor  may  be  a  man  qualified  by 
knowledge  and  experience  of  the  East  to  deal  with  these 
millions  of  Orientals  who,  accustomed  for  seven  thousand 
years  to  the  dictation  of  imperial  autocrats,  are  so  easily 
inflamed  by  fanatics  and  yield  so  readily  to  the  wily  arts 
of  spies  and  secret  conspirators." 

Having  finished  dictating  his  letter,  the  Consul-General 
asked  when  the  next  mail  left  for  England,  whereupon  the 
Secretary,  whose  voice  was  now  as  tremulous  as  his  hand 
had  been,  replied  that  there  would  be  no  direct  post  for 
nearly  a  week. 

"  That  will  do.  Copy  out  the  letter  and  let  me  have  it 
to  sign." 

With  a  frightened  look  the  Secretary  turned  to  go. 

"  Wait !  Of  course  you  will  observe  absolute  secrecy 
about  the  contents  of  it  ?  " 

With  a  tremulous  promise  to  do  so  the  Secretary  left  the 
room. 

Then  the  Consul-General  took  up  a  calendar  that  had 
been  standing  on  his  desk  and  began  to  count  the  days. 

"  Five — ten — fifteen,  and  five  days  more  before  I  can  re- 
ceive a  reply — it's  enough,"  he  thought. 

England's  eyes  would  be  opened  by  that  time  and  the 
public  would  see  how  much  the  Government  knew  about 
Egypt.  Accept  his  resignation  ?  They  dare  not !  It  would 
do  them  good,  though — serve  as  a  rebuke,  and  strengthen 
his  own  hands  for  the  work  he  had  now  to  do. 


THE    COMIXG    DAY  407 

What  was  that  work  ?  To  destroy  the  man  who  had 
robbed  him  of  his  son. 

II 

Early  the  next  morning  the  Consul-General  received  a 
letter  from  the  Princess  Xazimah,  saying  she  had  something 
to  communicate  and  proposed  to  come  to  tea  with  him.  At 
five  o'clock  she  came,  attended  by  sais,  footmen,  outriders 
and  even  eunuch,  but  wearing  the  latest  of  Paris  hats  and 
the  lightest  of  chiffon  veils. 

Tea  was  laid  on  the  shady  veranda  overlooking  the 
fresh  verdure  of  the  garden,  with  its  wall  of  purple  bougain- 
villea,  and  thinking  to  set  the  lady  at  ease  the  Consul- 
General  had  told  Fatimah,  instead  of  Ibrahim,  to  serve  it. 
But  hardly  had  they  sat  down  when  the  Princess  said  in 
French : 

"  Send  that  woman  away.  I  don't  trust  women.  I'm  a 
woman  myself  and  I  know  too  much  of  them." 

A  few  minutes  afterward  she  said,  "  Xow  you  can  give 
me  a  cigarette.  Light  it.  That  will  do.  Thank  you !  "  Then 
squatting  her  plump  person  in  a  large  cane-chair  she  pre- 
pared to  speak,  while  the  Consul-General,  who  was  in  his 
most  silent  mood,  composed  himself  to  listen. 

"  I  suppose  you  were  surprised  when  this  woman  who 
blossomed  out  of  a  harem  wrote  to  say  that  she  was  coming 
to  take  tea  with  you  ?  Here  she  is,  though,  and  now  she 
has  something  to  say  to  you." 

Then  puff,  puff,  puff  from  the  scarlet  lips,  while  the 
powdered  face  grew  hard,  and  the  eyes,  heavily  shaded  with 
kohl,  looked  steadfastly  forward. 

"  I  have  always  suspected  it,  but  I  discovered  it  for 
certain  only  yesterday.  And  "u-here  did  I  discover  it  ?  In 
my  own  salon  !  " 

"  What  did  you  discover  in  your  own  salon.  Princess  ? " 
asked  the  Consul-General  in  his  tired  voice. 

"  Conspiracy !  " 

Trained  as  was  the  Consul-General's  face  to  self-com- 
mand, it  betrayed  surprise  and  alarm. 


408  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Yes,  conspiracy  against  you  and  against  England. 
"  You  mean,  perhaps,  that  the  man  Ishmael  Ameer- 


"  Rubbish  !  Ishmael  indeed !  He  is  in  it  certainly.  In 
a  country  like  Egypt  the  holy  man  always  is.  Religion  and 
politics  are  twins  here — Siamese  twins  you  may  say,  for  you 
couldn't  get  a  slip  of  paper  between  them —  What's  that  ? 
The  Mahdist  movement  political?  Perhaps  it  was,  but 
politics  on  the  top  of  religion — the  monkey  on  the  donkey's 
back,  you  know.  Always  so  in  the  East.  The  only  way  to 
move  the  masses  is  to  make  an  appeal  to  their  religious  pas- 
sions. They  know  that,  and  they've  not  scrupled  to  use  their 
knowledge,  the  rascals !  Rascals,  that's  what  I  call  them. 
Excuse  the  word.     I  say  wdiat  I  think,  Nuneham." 

''They?     Who  are  they,  Princess?" 

"  The  corps  diplomatique.'''' 

Again  the  stern  face  expressed  surprise. 

"Yes,  the  corps  dip-lo-ma-t'ique!  ^'  with  a  dig  on  every 
syllable.  "  Half  a  dozen  of  them  were  at  my  house  yester- 
day and  they  were  not  ashamed  to  let  me  know  what  they 
are  doing." 

"  And  what  are  they  doing.  Princess  ?  " 

"  Helping  the  people  to  rebel !  " 

Then  throwing  away  her  cigarette  the  Princess  rose  to 
her  feet  and  pacing  to  and  fro  on  the  veranda,  with  a  firm 
tread  that  had  little  of  the  East  and  not  much  of  the  woman, 
she  repeated  the  story  she  had  heard  in  her  salon — how 
Ishmael  Ameer  was  to  return  to  Cairo,  with  twenty,  thirty, 
forty  thousand  of  his  followers  and  some  fantastic  dream 
of  establishing  a  human  society  that  should  be  greater, 
nobler,  wider  and  more  God-like  than  any  that  had  yet  dwelt 
on  this  planet;  how  the  diplomats  laughed  at  the  ridicu- 
lous hallucination  but  were  nevertheless  preparing  to  sup- 
port it  in  order  to  harass  the  Government  and  dishonour 
England. 

"But  how?" 

"  By  finding  arms  for  the  people  to  fight  with  if  you 
attempt  to  keep  their  Prophet  out!  Ask  your  Inspectors! 
Ask  your  police !  See  if  rifles  bought  with  foreign  money 
are  not  coming  into  Cairo  every  day." 


THE    COMIXG    DAY  409 

By  this  time  it  was  the  Consul-General  who  was  pacing 
up  and  down  the  veranda,  while  the  Princess,  who  sat  to 
smoke  another  cigarette,  repeated  the  opinions  of  the  for- 
eign representatives  one  by  one — Count  This,  who  was  old 
and  should  know  better  if  white  hairs  brought  wisdom; 
Baron  That,  who  was  as  long  as  a  palm-tree  but  without  a 
date,  and  the  Marquis  of  So-and-So. 

"  They  tell  me  because  I'm  a  Turk,  but  a  Turk  need  not 
be  a  traitor,  so  I'm  telling  you." 

The  iron  face  of  the  Consul-General  grew  white  and 
rigid,  but,  saying  nothing,  he  continued  to  pace  to  and  fro. 

"  Why  don't  you  turn  them  all  out  ?  They  are  making 
nothing  but  mischief.  The  head  of  the  idle  man  is  the 
house  of  the  devil  and  the  best  way  is  to  pull  it  down.  Why 
not  ?  Capitulations  (  Pooh !  While  the  meat  hangs  above 
the  dogs  will  quarrel  below.  Dogs,  that's  what  I  call  them. 
Excuse  the  word.     I  speak  what  I  think." 

"And  the  Egyptians — what  are  they  doing?" 

"What  are  they  always  doing?  Conspiring  with  your 
enemies  to  turn  you  out  of  the  country  on  the  ground  that 
you  are  trampling  on  their  religious  liberty." 

"Which  of  them?" 

"  All  of  them — pashas,  people,  effendis,  officials,  your 
own   Ministers — everybody." 

"Everybody?" 

"  Everybody !  The  stupids !  They  can't  see  farther  than 
the  ends  of  their  noses,  or  realise  that  they  would  only  be 
exchanging  one  master  for  fourteen.  What  would  Egypt 
be  then  ?  A  menagerie  with  all  the  gates  of  the  cages  open. 
Oh,  I  know!  I  say  what  I  think!  I'm  their  Princess,  but 
they  can  take  my  rank  to-morrow  if  they  wish  to." 

The  second  cigarette  was  thrown  away,  and  a  powder 
puff  and  small  mirror  were  taken  from  a  silver  bag  that 
hung  by  the  lady's  wrist. 

"  But  serve  you  right,  you  English !  You  make  the  same 
mistake  everj'where.  Education!  Civilisation!  Judicial 
reform!  Rubbish!  The  Koran  tells  the  Moslem  what  to 
believe  and  what  to  do,  so  what  does  he  want  with  your 
progress  ? " 


410  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

The  powder  puff  made  dabs  at  the  white  cheeks,  but  the 
lady  continued  to  talk. 

"  Your  Western  institutions  are  thrown  away  on  him. 
It's  like  a  beautiful  wife  married  to  a  blind  husband — a 
waste ! " 

The  sun  began  to  set  behind  the  wall  of  purple  creeper 
and  the  lady  rose  to  go. 

"  Xo  news  of  your  Gordon  yet  ?  No  ?  He  was  the  best 
of  the  bunch  and  I  simply  lost  my  heart  to  him.  You  should 
have  kept  him  more  in  hand,  though —  You  couldn't  ?  You, 
the  greatest  man  in —  Well,  there's  something  to  say  for 
the  Eastern  way  of  bringing  up  boys,  it  seems." 

Passing  through  the  drawing-room  the  Princess  came 
upon  the  portrait  of  Helena  which  used  to  stand  by  Lady 
Nuneham's  bed. 

"Ah,  the  moon!  The  beauty!  Bismillah!  What  did 
Allah  give  her  such  big  black  eyes  for?  Back  in  England, 
isn't  she?  My  goodness,  there  was  red  blood  in  that  girl's 
veins,  Xuneham!  God  have  mercy  upon  me,  yes!  You 
should  have  heard  her  talk  of  your  Ishmael !  " 

The  Princess  put  the  portrait  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it, 
then  closed  her  eyes  and  said  with  a  voluptuous  laugh : 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu,  if  this  had  only  been  a  Muslemah,  you 
wouldn't  have  had  much  trouble  with  your  Mahdi !  " 

Hardly  had  the  Consul-General  returned  to  his  library 
after  the  departure  of  the  Princess  when  his  Secretary 
brought  him  a  telegram  from  the  Sirdar — the  same  that  he 
had  dictated  at  Khartoum,  telling  of  the  intended  visit  to 
Cairo,  of  the  preparations  for  Ishmael's  projected  pilgrim- 
age, and  of  the  danger  that  was  likely  to  arise  from  the 
growing  belief  in  the  Prophet's  "  divine  "  inspiration. 

"  So  our  friend  is  beginning  to  understand  the  man  at 
last,"  he  said  with  an  expression  of  bitter  joy.  "  Meet  him 
on  his  arrival.    Tell  him  I  have  much  to  say." 

That  night  when  the  Consul-General  went  up  to  his  bed- 
room— the  room  in  which  alone  the  machine  became  the 
man — he  was  thinking,  as  usual,  of  Gordon. 

"  Such  power,  such  fire,  such  insight,  such  resource !  My 
own  son,  too,  and  worth  all  the  weaklings  put  together !    Oh, 


THE    COMING    DAY  411 

that  he  could  be  here  now — now  when  every  hand  seems  to 
be  raised  against  his  father!  But  where  is  he?  What  is  he 
doing?     Only  God  can  say." 

Then  the  Consul-General  remembered  what  the  Princess 
had  said  about  Helena.  Ah,  if  those  two  could  have  car- 
ried on  his  line — what  a  race!  So  pure,  so  clean,  so  strong! 
But  that  was  past  praying  for  now,  and  woe  to  the  day  when 
they  had  said  to  him,  "  A  man-child  is  born  to  you." 

After  that  the  Consul-General  thought  of  Ishmael  and 
then  the  bitterness  of  his  soul  almost  banished  sleep.  He 
had  known  from  the  first  that  the  man  could  not  be  work- 
ing alone;  he  had  known,  too,  that  some  of  England's  allies 
were  her  secret  enemies,  but  a  combination  of  Eastern  mum- 
mery with  Western  treachery  was  more  than  he  had  reck- 
oned upon. 

"  No  matter !    I'll  master  both  of  them !  "  he  thought. 

A  great  historical  tragedy  should  be  played  before  the 
startled  audience  of  disunited  Europe  whose  international 
jealousies  were  conspiring  with  religious  quackeries  to  make 
the  government  of  Egypt  impossible,  and  when  the  curtain 
fell  on  that  drama,  England  would  be  triumphant,  he  would 
himself  be  vindicated  and  the  "  fossils  of  Whitehall "  would 
be  ashamed. 

Last  of  all  he  thought  of  the  Egyptian  Ministers.  These 
were  the  ingrates  he  had  made  and  worked  with,  but  they 
were  no  fools  and  it  was  difiicult  to  understand  why  they 
were  throwing  in  their  lot  with  a  visionary  mummer,  who 
was  looking  for  a  Millenium. 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  think  of  a  world  in 
which  such  empty  quackery  can  be  supported  by  sane  peo- 
ple," he  thought. 

There  was  one  sweeter  thought  left,  though,  and  as  the 
Consul-General  dropped  off  to  sleep  he  told  himself  that, 
thanks  to  Helena,  he  would  soon  have  Ishmael  in  his  hands, 
and  then  he  would  kill  him  as  he  would  kill  a  dangerous 
and  demented  dog. 


412  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


III 


During  the  next  few  days  the  Consul-General  was  closely 
occupied.  The  Law  of  Public  Security  being  promulgated, 
he  called  upon  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  to  call  upon  the 
Commandant  of  Police  to  issue  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of 
Ishmael  Ameer. 

"  But  where  is  Ishmael  Ameer?"  asked  the  Minister, 

When  this  was  reported  to  the  Consul-General  his  stern 
face  smiled  and  he  said: 

"  Let  him  wait  and  see." 

Early  one  morning  his  Secretary  came  to  his  room  to 
say  that  the  Sirdar  had  arrived  from  Khartoum,  and  had 
gone  on  to  headquarters,  but  would  give  himself  the  pleasure 
of  calling  upon  his  lordship  before  long. 

"  Tell  him  it  must  be  soon — there  is  much  to  do,"  said 
the  Consul-General. 

Later  the  same  day  the  Commandant  of  Police  came 
with  a  knowing  smile  on  his  ruddy  face  to  say  that  the 
"  Bedouin  "  had  reached  Cairo,  and  that  he  had  been  fol- 
lowed to  the  Serai  Fum  el  Khalig,  the  palace  of  the  Chan- 
cellor of  El  Azhar,  where  he  had  already  been  visited  by 
the  Grand  Mufti,  some  of  the  Ministers,  certain  of  the 
Diplomatic  Corps,  and  nearly  the  whole  of  the  Ulema. 

"  W^as  he  alone  ?  "  asked  the  Consul-General. 

"  Quite  alone,  your  lordship,  and  now  he  is  as  safely 
in  our  hands  as  if  he  were  already  under  lock  and  key." 

"Good I    What  did  you  say  his  address  was?" 

"  Serai  Fum  el  Khalig." 

"  Palace  Fum  el  Khalig,"  repeated  the  Consul-General, 
making  a  note  on  a  marble  tablet  which  stood  on  his  desk. 

Later  still — very  late — the  Grand  Cadi  came  with  the 
same  news.  The  suave  old  Moslem  judge  was  visibly  ex- 
cited. His  pale,  lymphatic,  pock-marked  cheeks,  his  earth- 
coloured  lips,  his  base  eyes  and  his  nose  as  sharp  as  a  beak, 
gave  him  more  than  ever  the  appearance  of  a  fierce  and 
sagacious  bird  of  prey.     After  exaggerated  bows  he  began 


THE    COMIXG   DAY  413 

to  speak  in  the  oily,  half-smothered  voice  of  one  who  lives 
in  constant  fear  of  being  overheard. 

"  Your  Excellency  will  remember  that  when  on  former 
occasions  I  have  had  the  inestimable  privilege  of  approach- 
ing your  honourable  person  in  order  to  warn  you  that  if 
you  did  not  put  down  a  certain  Arab  innovator  the  result 
would  be  death  to  the  rule  of  England  in  Egypt,  your  Ex- 
cellency has  demanded  proofs." 

"Well?" 

"  I  am  now  in  a  position  to  provide  them." 

"  State  the  case  precisely,"  said  the  Consul-General. 

"  Your  Excellency  will  be  interested  to  hear  that  a  per- 
son of  some  consequence  has  arrived  in  Cairo." 

Trained  to  self-control,  the  Consul-General  conquered 
an  impulse  to  say,  "  I  know,"  and  merely  said,  "  Who 
is  he?" 

"  He  calls  himself  Sheikh  Omar  Benani.  and  is  under- 
stood to  be  the  wise  and  wealthy  head  of  the  great  tribe  of 
the  Ababdah  Bedouins,  who  inhabit  the  country  that  lies 
east  of  Assuan  to  the  Red  Sea." 

'^Well?" 

"  The  man  who  calls  himself  Omar  Benani  is — Ishmael 
Ameer." 

At  that  the  base  eyes  glanced  up  with  a  look  of  triumph, 
but  the  Consul-General's  face  remained  immovable. 

"Well?" 

"  No  doubt  your  Excellency  is  asking  yourself  why  he 
comes  in  this  disguise,  and  if  your  Excellency  will  deign 
to  give  me  your  attention  I  will  tell  you." 

"  I  am  listening." 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  pretends  to  be  a  reformer,  intent  upon 
the  moral  and  intellectual  regeneration  of  Islam,  and  he 
preaches  the  coming  of  a  golden  age  in  which  unity,  peace 
and  brotherhood  are  to  reign  throughout  the  earth." 

"Well?" 

"  With  this  ridiculous  and  impracticable  propaganda  he 
has  appealed  to  many  wild  and  ardent  minds,  so  that  a  vast 
following  of  half-civilised  people,  whom  he  has  gathered  up 
in  the  Soudan,  are  to  start  soon — may  have  started  already — 


414  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

for  this  city,  which  they  believe  to  be  the  Mecca  of  the  new 
world.'' 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Ishmael  Ameer  pretends  to  have  come  to  Cairo  in  ad- 
vance of  his  followers  to  prepare  for  that  Millennium." 

"  And  what  has  he  really  come  for  ?  " 

"To  establish  a  political  State." 

Down  to  that  moment  the  Consul-General  had  been  lean- 
ing back  in  his  chair  in  the  attitude  of  one  who  was  listen- 
ing to  something  he  already  knew,  but  now  he  sat  up  sharply. 

"  Is  this  a  fact  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  fact,  your  Excellency.  And  if  your  Excellency 
will  once  more  deign  to  grant  me  your  attention,  I  will  put 
you  in  possession  of  a  secret." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  Consul-General. 

Instinctively  the  suave  old  judge  drew  his  legs  up  on  his 
chair  and  fingered  his  amber  beads. 

"  Your  Excellency  will  perhaps  remember  that  owing  to 
differences  of  opinion  with  the  Khedive — may  Allah  bless 
him  I — you  were  compelled  to  require  that  for  a  while  he 
should  leave  the  country." 

"  Well  i  " 

"  He  went  to  Constantinople  with  the  intention  of  lay- 
ing his  grievances  against  England  before  His  Serenity  the 
Sultan — may  the  Merciful  give  him  long  life!" 

"  Well  ? " 

"  The  Sultan  is  a  friend  of  England,  your  Excellency — 
the  Khedive  was  turned  away." 

"And  then?" 

"  Then  he  went  to  Paris,  as  your  Excellency  is  probably 
aware." 

"Well?" 

"  Perhaps  your  Excellency  supposes  that  he  occupied  him- 
self with  the  frivolities  of  the  gay  capital  of  France — din- 
ner, theatres,  dances,  races  ?  But  no !  He  had  two  enemies 
now,  England  and  Turkey,  and  he  presumed  to  think  he 
could  punitih  both." 

"How?    In  what  way?" 

""By  founding  a  secret  society  for  the  conquest  of  Syria, 


THE    COMING    DAY  415 

Palestine,  and  Arabia,  and  the  establishment  of  a  great 
Arab  Empire  with  himself  as  its  Caliph  and  Cairo  as  its 
capital." 

"  Well  ?    What  happened  ?  " 

"Need  I  say  what  happened,  your  Excellency?  By 
means  of  his  great  wealth  he  was  able  to  send  out  hundreds 
of  paid  emissaries  to  every  part  of  the  Arabic  world,  and 
Ishmael  Ameer  was  the  first  of  them." 

The  Consul-General  was  at  length  startled  out  of  all  his 
composure. 

"  Can  you  prove  this  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Your  Excellency,  if  I  say  anything  I  can  always  prove 
it." 

•The  Consul-General's  brow  grew  more  and  more  severe, 

"  And  his  name — his  assumed  name — what  did  you  say 
it  was?" 

"  Sheikh  Omar  Benani." 

"  Sheikh  Omar  Benani,"  repeated  the  Consul-General, 
making  another  note  on  his  marble  tablet. 

"  That  is  enough  for  the  present,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
something  to  do  to-night.  I  must  ask  your  Eminence  to  ex- 
cuse me." 

After  the  Grand  Cadi  had  gone,  with  many  sweeping 
salaams,  various  oily  compliments,  and  that  cruel  gleam  in 
his  base  eyes  which  proceeds  only  from  base  souls,  the  Con- 
sul-General rang  sharply  for  his  Secretary. 

"  We  have  not  yet  made  out  our  invitations  for  the 
King's  Dinner — let  us  do  so  now,"  he  said. 

He  threw  a  sheet  of  paper  across  the  table  to  his  Sec- 
retary, who  prepared  to  make  notes. 

"  First,  the  Diplomatic  Corps — every  one  of  them." 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Next,  our  Egyptian  Ministers  and  the  leading  mem- 
bers of  the  Legislative  Council." 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Next,  the  more  prominent  Pashas  and  Notables." 

"  Yes." 

"  Of  course  our  own  people  as  usual,  and  finally " 

"Yes?" 


416  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Finally  the  Ulema  of  El  Azhar." 

The  Secretary  looked  up  in  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  said  the  Consul-General.  "  They  have 
never  been  invited  before,  but  this  is  a  special  occasion." 

"  Quite  so,  my  lord." 

The  Consul-General  fixed  .his  eyeglass  and  took  up  his 
marble  tablet. 

"  In  writing  to  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar  at  the  Palace 
Fum  el  Khalig,"  he  said,  "  enclose  a  card  for  the  Sheikh 
Omar  Benani." 

"  Sheikh  Omar  Benani." 

"  Say  that  hearing  that  one  so  highly  esteemed  among 
his  own  people  is  at  present  on  a  visit  to  Cairo,  I  shall  be 
honoured  by  his  company." 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  That  will  do.    Good-night !  " 

"  Good-night,  my  lord." 

It  was  early  morning  before  the  Consul-General  went  to 
bed.  The  Grand  Cadi's  story,  being  so  exactly  what  he 
wanted  to  believe,  had  thrown  him  entirely  off  his  guard. 
It  appeared  to  illuminate  everything  that  had  looked  dark 
and  mysterious — the  sudden  advent  of  Ishmael,  the  growth 
of  his  influence,  the  sending  out  of  his  emissaries,  his  pro- 
jected pilgrimage  and  the  gathering  up  of  camels  and  horses 
in  such  enormous  quantities  as  even  the  Government  could 
not  have  commanded  in  time  of  war. 

It  accounted  for  Ishmael's  presence  in  Cairo,  and  his 
mission  (as  described  by  Helena)  of  drawing  oif  the  al- 
legiance of  the  Egyptian  Army.  It  accounted,  too,  for  the 
treachery  of  the  Ministers,  Pashas,  and  Rotables,  who  were 
too  shrewd  and  too  selfish  (whatever  the  riff-raff  of  the 
Soudan  might  be)  to  risk  their  comfortable  incomes  for  a 
religious  chimera. 

Yes,  the  Khedive's  money  and  the  substantial  prospect 
of  establishing  a  vast  Arab  Empire,  not  the  vague  hope 
of  a  spiritual  Millennium,  had  been  the  power  that  worked 
these  wonders. 

It  vexed  him  to  think  that  his  old  enemy  whom  he  had 
banished  had  been  more  powerful  in  exile  than  at  home, 


[Page  276.] 
"'How  i)iteresting\'  cried  the  ladies  in  chorus." 


THE    COMIXG   DAY  417 

and  it  tortured  him  to  reflect  that  Ishmael  had  developed, 
with  the  religious  malady  of  the  Mahdi,  his  political  mania 
as  well. 

But  no  matter!  He  would  ho  more  than  a  match  for  all 
these  forces,  and  when  his  great  historical  drama  came  to 
be  played  before  the  eyes  of  astonished  humanity,  it  would 
be  seen  that  he  had  saved,  not  England  only,  but  Europe 
and  perhaps  civilisation  itself. 

Thus,  for  three  triumphant  hours,  the  Consul-General 
saw  himself  as  a  patriot  trampling  on  the  enemies  of  his 
country,  but  hardly  had  he  left  the  library  and  begun  to 
climb  the  stairs  of  his  great,  empty,  echoing  house,  switch- 
ing off  the  lights  as  he  ascended,  and  leaving  darkness  behind 
him,  than  the  statesman  sank  back  on  the  man — the  broken, 
bereaved  human  being — and  he  recognised  his  motives  for 
what  they  were. 

A  few  minutes  after  he  had  reached  his  bedroom,  Fati- 
mah  entered  it  with  a  jug  of  hot  water  and  found  him  sit- 
ting with  his  head  in  his  hands,  looking  fixedly  at  the 
portrait  in  the  black  and  gilt  frame  of  the  little  lad  in  an 
Arab  fez. 

"  Ah,  everybody  loved  that  boy,"  she  said,  whereupon  the 
old  man  raised  his  head  and  dismissed  her  brusquely. 

"  You  ought  to  be  in  bed  by  this  time — go  at  once,"  he 
said. 

"  Dear  heart,  so  ought  your  lordship,"  said  the  Egyptian 
woman. 

The  Consul-General  could  dismiss  Fatimah,  but  there  was 
some  one  he  could  not  get  rid  of — the  manly,  magnificent, 
heart-breaking  young  figure  that  always  lived  in  his  mind's 
eye — with  its  deadly  white  face,  its  trembling  lower  lip  and 
its  quivering  voice  which  said,  "  General,  the  time  may 
come  when  it  will  be  even  more  painful  to  you  to  remember 
all  this  than  it  has  been  to  me  to  bear  it." 

Where  was  he  now?  What  was  he  doing?  His  son,  his 
only  son,  all  that  was  left  to  him ! 

There  was  only  one  way  to  lay  that  ghost,  and  the  Con- 
sul-General did  so  by  telling  himself  with  a  sort  of  fierce 
joy  that  wherever  Gordon  might  be  he  must  soon  hear  that 


418  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Ishmael,  in  a  pitiful  and  tricky  disguise,  had  been  dis- 
covered in  Cairo,  and  then  he  would  see  for  himself  what 
an  arrant  schemer  and  unscrupulous  charlatan  was  the  per- 
son for  whom  he  had  sacrificed  his  life. 

With  that  bitter-sweet  thought  the  lonely  old  man  forced 
back  the  tears  that  had  been  gathering  in  his  eyes  and  went 
to  bed. 


IV 

Serai  Fum  el  Khalig,  Cairo. 

My  dearest  Helena:  Here  I  am,  you  see,  and  I  am  not 
arrested,  although  I  travelled  in  the  same  train  with  the 
Sirdar,  met  him  face  to  face  on  the  platform  at  Khartoum, 
again  on  the  platform  at  Atbara,  again  on  the  landing-place 
at  Shelal,  and  finally  in  the  station  at  Cairo,  where  he  was 
received  on  his  arrival  by  his  ofiicers  of  the  Egyptian  Army, 
by  my  father's  first  Secretary,  and  by  the  Commandant  of 
Police. 

I  was  asking  myself  what  this  could  mean,  whether  your 
black  boy  had  reached  his  destination  and  if  your  letter 
had  been  delivered,  when  suddenly  I  became  aware  that  I 
was  being  observed,  watched  and  followed  to  this  house,  and 
by  that  I  knew  that  in  this  land  of  mystery  my  liberty  was 
to  be  allowed  to  me  a  little  longer  for  reasons  I  have  still 
to  fathom. 

This  is  the  home  of  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar,  and  I 
have  delivered  Ishmael's  letter  announcing  the  change  of 
plan  whereby  I  have  come  into  Cairo  instead  of  himself, 
but  I  have  pledged  the  good  old  man  to  secrecy  on  that 
subject,  for  the  present  at  all  events,  giving  him  my  confi- 
dent assurance  that  in  common  with  the  best  of  the  Ulema, 
he  is  being  wickedly  deceived  and  made  an  innocent  instru- 
ment for  the  destruction  of  his  own  cause. 

My  dear  Helena,  I  was  right.  My  vague  suspicions  of 
that  damnable  intriguer,  the  Grand  Cadi,  were  justified. 
Already   I    realise    that    after    fruitless    efforts   to    inveigle 


THE    COMING   DAY  419 

Ishmael  into  schemes  of  anarchical  rebellion,  it  was  he 
who  conceived  the  conspiracy  which  has  taken  our  friend 
by  storm  in  the  form  of  a  passive  mutiny  of  the  Egyptian 
Army.  The  accursed  scoundrel  knows  well  it  cannot  be 
passive,  that  somewhere  and  somehow  it  will  break  into 
active  resistance,  but  that  is  precisely  what  he  desires.  As 
I  told  you,  it  is  the  old  trick  of  Caiaphas  over  again,  and 
that  is  the  lowest,  meanest,  dirtiest  thing  in  history. 

Query,  Is  he  playing  the  same  game  with  the  Consul- 
General?  I  am  sure  he  is,  and  when  I  think  that  England 
and  my  father  may  be  in  as  much  danger  as  Egypt  and  Ish- 
mael from  the  man's  devilish  machinations,  I  am  more  than 
ever  certain  that  Providence  had  a  purpose  in  bringing  me 
to  Cairo,  and  I  feel  reconciled  to  the  necessity  of  living 
here  in  this  threefold  disguise,  being  one  thing  to  Ishmael, 
another  to  the  Grand  Cadi  &  Co.,  and  a  third  to  the  Gov- 
ernment and  police.  I  feel  reconciled,  too,  or  almost  recon- 
ciled, to  the  necessity  of  leaving  you  where  you  are,  for 
the  present  at  all  events,  although  it  rips  me  like  a  sword- 
cut  as  often  as  I  think  of  it. 

I  have  sent  for  Hafiz  and  expect  to  hear  through  him 
what  is  happening  at  the  Agency,  but  I  am  hoping  he  will 
not  come  until  morning,  for  to-night  I  can  think  of  nothing 
but  ourselves.  When  I  left  you  at  Khartoum,  I  felt  that 
higher  powers  were  constraining  and  controlling  me,  and 
that  I  was  only  yielding  at  last  to  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  fatality.  I  thought  I  had  made  every  possible  effort, 
had  exhausted  every  means  and  had  nothing  to  reproach 
myself  with,  but  hardly  had  I  got  away  into  the  desert, 
when  a  hand  seemed  to  grasp  me  at  the  back  of  my  neck 
and  to  say,  "  Why  did  you  leave  her  behind  ?  " 

In  Ishmael's  house,  and  in  that  atmosphere  of  delirious 
ecstasy  in  the  mosque,  it  was  easy  to  think  it  necessary  for 
you  to  remain  or  my  purpose  in  going  away  must  from 
the  first  be  frustrated,  but  awakening  in  the  morning  in  my 
native  compartment,  with  men  and  boys  lying  about  on 
sacks,  the  sandy  daylight  filtering  through  the  closed  shut- 
ters of  the  carriage  and  the  train  full  of  the  fetid  atmos- 
phere of  exhausted  sleep,  I  could  not  help  but  protest  to 


420  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

myself  that,  at  any  cost  whatever,  I  should  have  found  a 
way  to  bring  you  with  me. 

Thank  God,  if  I  have  left  you  behind  in  that  trying  and 
false  position  it  is  with  no  Caliph,  no  corrupt  and  con- 
cupiscent fanatic,  but  a  man  of  the  finest  and  purest  in- 
stincts, who  is  too  much  occupied  with  his  spiritual  mission, 
praise  the  Lord!  to  think  of  the  beautiful  woman  by  his 
side,  so  I  tell  myself  it  was  the  will  of  Providence,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  do  now  but  to  leave  ourselves  in  the 
hands  of  fate. 

Good-night,  dearest !     D.  V.,  I'll  w^ite  again  to-morrow. 


n 

Have  just  seen  Hafiz.  The  dear  old  fellow  came  racing 
up  here  at  six  o'clock  this  morning,  with  his  big  round 
face,  like  the  aurora  borealis,  shining  in  smiles  and  tears. 
Heavens,  how  he  laughed  and  cried  and  swore  and  sweated! 

He  thought  his  letter  about  my  mother's  death  had 
brought  me  back,  and  when  I  gave  him  a  hint  of  my  real 
errand  he  nearly  dropped  in  terror.  It  seems  that  among 
my  old  colleagues  in  Cairo,  my  reputation  is  now  of  the 
lowest,  being  that  of  a  person  who  was  bribed — God  knows 
by  whom — to  do  what  I  did.  As  a  consequence  it  will  go  ill 
with  me,  according  to  Hafiz,  if  I  should  be  discovered,  but 
as  that  is  pretty  certain  to  happen  in  any  case,  I  am  not  too 
much  troubled,  and  find  more  interest  in  the  fact  that  your 
boy  Mosie  is  staying  at  the  Agency  and  that  consequently 
my  father  must  have  received  your  letter. 

My  dear  Helena,  my  "  mystic  sense "  has  been  right 
again.  The  Grand  Cadi  continues  to  pay  secret  visits  to 
the  Consul-General.  That  much  Hafiz  could  say  out  of  his 
intercourse  with  his  mother,  and  it  is  sufiicient  to  tell  me 
that,  by  keeping  a  running  sore  open  with  my  father,  the 
scoundrel  counts  on  destroying  not  only  Ishmael,  but  Eng- 
land, by  leading  her  to  such  resistance  as  will  result  in 
bloodshed  and  thus  dishonour  her  in  the  ej-es  of  the  civil- 
ised  world   and    leave   Egypt   a   cockpit    in   which  half  the 


THE    COMING    DAY  421 

foreign  Powers  will  fight  for  themselves,  no  matter  who 
may  suffer. 

What  should  I  do  ?  God  knows !  I  have  an  almost  un- 
conquerable impulse  to  go  straight  to  my  father  and  open 
his  eyes  to  what  is  going  on.  He  is  enveloped  by  intrigues 
and  surrounded  by  enemies  in  high  places — his  Egyptian 
Ministers,  the  creatures  of  his  own  creation;  some  of  the 
foreign  diplomats,  the  European  leeches  who  suck  his  blood 
while  they  pretend  to  be  his  friends,  and  above  all  this  ras- 
cally Cadi,  with  his  sleek  face  and  double-sword  game. 

But  what  can  I  say?  What  positive  fact  can  I  yet 
point  to?  Will  my  father  believe  me  if  I  tell  him  that 
Ishmacl's  following  which  is  coming  up  to  Cairo  is  not, 
as  he  thinks,  an  armed  force  ?  That  the  Grand  Cadi  &  Co. 
are  a  pack  of  lying  intriguers,  each  one  playing  for  his 
own  hand  ? 

My  father  is  a  great  man  who  probably  does  not  need 
and  would  certainly  resent  my  compassion,  but.  Lord  God, 
how  I  pity  him !  Alone,  in  his  old  age,  after  all  he  has 
done  for  Egypt !  As  for  his  Secretaries  and  Advisers,  he 
has  not  brought  them  up  to  help  him,  and  I  would  enlarge 
the  Biblical  warning  about  not  putting  one's  trust  in  princes 
to  include  parA-enues  as  well. 

My  dear  Helena,  where  are  you  now,  I  wonder?  What  is 
happening  to  you  ?  What  occurred  after  I  left  Khartoum  ? 
These  are  the  questions  which  during  half  the  day  and 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  night  are  hammering,  hammering, 
hammering  on  my  brain.  Ishmael  was  to  follow  me  in  a 
few  days,  so  I  suppose  you  are  on  the  desert  by  this  time. 
The  desert!  In  the  midst  of  that  vast  horde!  The  scour- 
ings  of  a  whole  continent!  Poor  old  Hafiz  had  something 
like  a  fit  when  I  told  him  you  were  not  in  England  but  in 
the  Soudan,  yet  as  a  fatalist  he  feels  bound  to  believe 
that  everything  wi^l  work  out  for  the  best  and  he  asks  me 
to  send  his  high  regard  to  you. 

It  gives  one  a  strange  sensation,  and  is  almost  like  see- 
ing things  from  another  state  of  existence,  to  be  here  in 
Cairo,  walking  about  unrecognised  amid  the  familiar  sights 
and  hearing  the  gun  fired  from  the  Citadel  every  day;  but 
28 


422  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

the  sharpest  twinge  comes  of  the  hacking  thought  of  where 
you  are  and  what  circumstances  surround  you.  In  fact, 
memory  is  always  playing  some  devilish  trick  with  me  and 
raking  up  thoughts  of  the  condition  in  which  I  found  you 
in  Khartoum. 

Helena,  my  dear  Helena,  I  have  an  immense  faith  in 
your  strength  and  your  courage.  You  are  mine,  mine,  mine 
— remember  that!  I  do — I  have  to — all  the  time.  That  is 
what  sets  me  at  ease  in  my  dark  hours  and  gives  sleep,  as 
the  Arabs  say,  to  my  eyelids.  For  the  rest,  we  must  resign 
ourselves  and  continue  to  wait  for  the  direction  of  fate. 
The  fact  that  I  was  not  arrested  in  the  character  of  Ishmael 
immediately  on  my  arrival  in  Cairo  makes  me  think  Hafiz 
may  be  right — that,  D.  V.,  one  way  or  another,  God  knows 
how,  everything  is  working  out  for  the  best.  It's  damned 
easy  to  say  that,  I  know,  but,  upon  my  soul,  dearest,  I 
believe  it.  So  keep  up  heart,  my  poor  old  girl,  and  God 
bless  you!  Gordon. 

P.  S.  I'll  hold  this  letter  back  until  I  think  you  must 
be  nearing  Assouan,  and  then  send  it,  D.  V.,  by  safe  hands 
to  be  delivered  to  you  there. 

P.  P.  S.  I  open  my  envelope  to  tell  you  of  a  new  de- 
velopment !  I  am  invited  with  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar 
to  the  Consul-General's  dinner  in  honour  of  the  King's 
Birthday.  This  in  the  character  of  Sheikh  Omar  Benani, 
who  is,  it  seems,  the  chief  of  the  tribe  of  the  Ababdah,  in- 
habiting the  wild  country  between  Assouan  and  the  Red 
Sea,  a  person  with  a  great  reputation  for  wealth  and  wisdom 
and  a  man  whose  word  is  truth. 

What  does  it  mean?  One  thing  certainly — that  acting 
on  the  information  contained  in  your  letter  the  authorities 
are  mistaking  me  for  Ishmael  Ameer,  and  proposing  some 
scheme  to  capture  me.  But  why  don't  they  take  me  without 
further  ado?  What  unfathomable  reason  can  there  be  for 
the  delay  in  doing  so?  Intrigue  on  intrigue!  I  must  wait 
and  see. 

Meantime  I  am  asking  myself  where  the  real  Ishmael  is 


THE    COMING    DAY  423 

and  what  he  is  doing  now  ?  Is  the  belief  in  his  "  divine  " 
guidance  increasing?  Is  he  acquiring  the  influence  of  a 
Mahdi?  If  so,  God  help  him!  God  help  his  people!  God 
help  nay  father!     God  help  everybody! 

But  sit  tight,  my  girl!  Something  good  is  going  to 
happen  to  us !  I  feel  it,  I  know  it !  All  my  love  to  you, 
Helena!     Maa-es-salamah! 


V 

Khartoum. 

Hy  dear,  dear  Gordon:  Gone!  You  are  actually  gone! 
I  can  hardly  believe  it.  It  must  be  like  this  to  awaken 
from  chloroform  after  losing  one's  right  hand,  only  it  must 
be  something  out  of  my  heart  in  this  instance,  for  though 
I  have  not  shed  a  tear  since  you  went  away  and  do  not  in- 
tend to  shed  one,  I  have  a  wild  sense  of  weeping  in  the 
desolate  chambers  of  my  soul. 

"Writing  to  you  ?  Certainly  I  am.  Gordon,  do  you  know 
what  you  have  done  for  me?  You  have  given  me  faith  in 
your  "  mystic  senses,"  and  by  virtue  of  certain  of  my  own 
I  am  now  sure  that  you  are  not  dead,  and  that  you  are  not 
going  to  die,  so  I  am  writing  to  you  out  of  the  chaos  that 
envelops  me,  having  no  one  here  to  speak  to,  literally  no 
one,  and  being  at  present  indifferent  to  the  mystery  of 
what  is  to  become  of  my  letter. 

It  seems  I  fainted  in  the  mosque  after  that  wild  riot 
of  barbaric  sounds,  and  did  not  come  back  to  full  conscious- 
ness until  next  morning,  and  then  I  found  the  Arab  woman 
and  the  child  attending  on  me  in  my  room.  Xaturally  I 
thought  I  might  have  been  delirious  and  I  was  in  terror  lest 
I  had  betrayed  myself,  so  I  asked  what  I  had  been  saying 
in  my  sleep,  whereupon  Zenoba  protested  that  I  had  said 
nothing  at  all,  but  Ayesha,  the  sweet  little  darling,  said 
I  had  been  calling  upon  the  great  White  Pasha  (meaning 
General  Gordon),  whose  picture  (his  statue)  was  by  the 
Palace  gates.    What  an  escape ! 

Of  course  my  first  impulse  was  to  run  away,  but  at  the 


424  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

next  moment  I  saw  that  to  do  so  would  be  to  defeat  your 
own  scheme  in  going",  and  that  as  surely  as  it  had  been  your 
duty  to  go  into  Cairo,  it  was  mine  to  remain  in  Khartoum. 
But  all  the  same  I  felt  myself  to  be  a  captive — as  surely  a 
captive  as  any  white  woman  who  was  ever  held  in  the 
Mahdi's  camp — and  it  did  not  sweeten  my  captivity  to  re- 
member that  I  had  first  become  a  prisoner  of  my  own  free 
will. 

If  I  am  a  captive,  I  am  under  no  cruel  tyrant,  though, 
and  Ishmael's  kindness  is  killing  me.  I  was  certainly  wrong 
about  him  in  Cairo,  and  his  character  is  precisely  the  re- 
verse of  what  I  expected.  Little  Ayesha  tells  me  that  dur- 
ing the  night  I  lay  unconscious  her  father  did  not  sleep 
at  all,  but  kept  coming  into  the  guest-room  every  hour  to 
ask  for  news  of  me,  and  now  he  knocks  at  my  door  a  dozen 
times  a  day,  asking  if  I  am  better,  and  saying,  "  To-morrow, 
please  God,  you  Avill  be  well.''  It  makes  me  wretched,  and 
brings  me  dreadfully  near  to  the  edge  of  tears,  remember- 
ing what  I  have  done  to  him  and  how  certainly  his  hopes 
will  be  destroyed. 

Katurally  his  people  have  taken  his  cue  and  last  night 
Black  Zogal  gathered  up  a  crowd  of  half-crazy  creatures 
like  himself,  to  say  a  prayer  for  me  at  the  Saint's  house, 
which  is  just  outside  my  window. 

"  Thou  knowest  our  White  Lady,  O  Father  Gabreel, 
that  she  is  betrothed  to  our  Master,  and  that  his  heart 
is  low  and  his  bread  is  bitter  because  she  is  sick.  Make 
her  well  if  it  please  God,  0  Father  Gabreel!"  Thus  the 
simple-hearted  children  of  the  desert  called  down  God's 
spirit  to  their  circle  of  fire  for  me,  and  after  loud  cries  of 
*'  Allah !  "  "  Allah !  "  going  on  for  nearly  an  hour,  they 
seemed  to  be  content,  for  Zogal  said : 

"  Abu  Gabreel  hears,  oh,  my  brothers,  and  to-morrow, 
please  God,  our  sister  will  be  well." 

I  had  been  reaching  up  in  bed  to  listen,  and  when  all 
was  over  I  wanted  to  lay  down  my  head  and  howl. 

The  time  has  come  for  the  people  to  start  on  their  pil- 
grimage, but  Ishmael  insists  upon  postponing  the  journey 
until  I  am  quite  recovered.     Meantime  Zenoba  is  trying  to 


THE    COMING   DAY  425 

make  mischief,  and  to-day  when  the  door  of  my  room  was 
ajar,  I  heard  her  hinting  to  Lshniael  that  the  White  Lady 
was  not  really  ill  but  only  pretending  to  be — a  bit  of 
treachery  for  which  she  got  no  thanks,  being  as  sharply 
reproved  as  she  was  on  the  morning  of  your  mother's  letter. 

That  woman  makes  a  wild  cat  of  me.  I  can't  help  it — I 
hate  her!  Of  course  I  see  through  her,  too.  She  is  in 
love  with  Ishmael,  and  though  I  ought  to  pity  her  pangs 
of  jealousy  there  are  moments  when  I  want  to  curse  her 
religion  and  the  dawn  of  the  day  of  her  birth  and  her 
mother  and  her  grandmother. 

There !  You  see  I  have  caught  the  contagion  of  the 
country;  but  I  am  really  a  little  weak  and  out  of  heart 
to-night,  dear,  so  perhaps  I  had  better  say  good-night  I 
Good-night,  my  dearest! 

II 

Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  I  could  not  bear  to  play  the  hypo- 
crite any  longer,  so  I  got  up  to-day  and  told  Ishmael  I 
was  well  and  therefore  he  must  not  keep  back  his  pilgrim- 
age any  longer.  Such  joy!  Such  rejoicing!  It  would 
break  my  heart  if  I  had  any  here,  but  having  sent  all  I 
possess  to  Cairo,  I  could  do  nothing  but  sit  in  the  guest- 
room and  look  on  at  the  last  of  the  people's  preparations 
for  the  desert  journey — tents  and  beds  being  packed,  and 
camels  and  horses  and  donkeys  brought  in  to  a  continuous 
din  of  braying  and  grunting  and  neighing. 

We  are  to  start  away  to-morrow  morning,  and  this  after- 
noon when  that  fact  was  announced  to  me,  I  was  so  terrified 
by  the  idea  of  being  dragged  over  the  desert  like  a  slave, 
that  I  asked  Ishmael  to  leave  me  behind.  His  face  fell,  but 
— would  you  believe  it  ? — he  agreed,  saying  I  was  not  strong 
enough  to  travel  and  Zenoba  should  stay  to  nurse  me.  At 
that  I  speedily  repented  of  my  request  and  asked  him  to 
allow  me  to  go,  whereupon  his  face  lightened  like  a  child's, 
and  with  joy  he  agreed  again,  saying  the  Arab  woman 
should  go  to  take  care  of  me,  for  Ayesha  was  a  big  girl  now 
and  needed  a  nurse  no  longer.     This  was  jumping  out  of 


426  THE    \VHITE    PROPHET 

the  frying-pan  into  the  fire  and  I  protested  that  I  was  quite 
able  to  look  after  myself,  but,  out  of  his  anxiety  for  nay 
health,  Ishmael  would  not  be  gainsaid  and  the  Arab  woman 
said,  "  I'll  watch  over  you  like  my  eyes,  my  sister."  I  am 
sure  she  will,  the  vixen! 

ni 

We  have  left  Khartoum  and  are  now  on  the  desert.  The 
day  had  not  yet  dawned  when  we  were  awakened  by  a  tattoo 
of  pipes  and  native  drums — surely  the  weirdest  sound  in 
the  darkness  that  ever  fell  on  mortal  ear,  creeping  into  the 
pores  and  getting  under  the  very  skin.  Then  came  a  din, 
a  roar,  a  clamour — the  grunting  and  gurgling  and  braying 
of  five  thousand  animals  and  as  much  shouting  and  bellow- 
ing of  human  tongues  as  went  to  the  building  of  the  tower 
of  Babel. 

The  sun  was  rising  and  there  was  a  golden  belt  of  cloud 
in  the  eastern  sky  by  the  time  we  were  ready  to  go.  They 
had  brought  a  litter  on  a  dromedary  for  me,  and  I  was  al- 
most the  last  to  start.  It  was  hard  to  part  from  the  child, 
for  though  her  sweet  innocence  had  given  me  many  a  stab 
and  I  felt  sometimes  as  if  she  had  been  created  to  tor- 
ture me,  I  had  grown  to  love  her,  and  I  think  she  loved  me. 
She  stood  as  Ave  rode  away  with  a  big  tear  ready  to  drop  onto 
her  golden  cheek  and  looked  after  me  with  her  gazelle-like 
eyes.  Sweet  little  Ayesha,  creature  of  the  air  and  the 
desert,  I  shall  see  her  no  more ! 

Crossing  the  Mahdi's  open-air  mosque  at  Omdurman, 
where  we  said  morning  prayers,  we  set  our  faces  northward 
over  the  wild  halfa  grass  and  clumps  of  mimosa  scrub,  and 
as  soon  as  we  were  out  in  the  open  desert,  with  its  vast  sky, 
I  saw  how  gigantic  was  our  caravan.  The  great  mass  of 
men  and  animals  seemed  to  stretch  for  miles  across  the  yel- 
low sand,  and  looked  like  an  enormous  tortoise  creeping 
slowly  along. 

We  camped  at  sunset  in  the  Wadi  Bishara,  the  signal 
for  the  bivouac  being  the  blowing  of  a  great  elephant's  horn 
which  had  a  thrilling  effect  in  that  lonesome  place.     But 


THE    COMING   DAY  427 

more  thrilling?  still  was  the  effect  of  evening  prayers,  -whicli 
began  as  soon  as  the  camels  and  horses  and  donkeys  had 
been  unsaddled  and  their  gruntings  and  brayings  and  gur- 
glings as  well  as  the  various  noises  of  humanity  had  ceased. 

The  afterglow  was  flaming  along  the  flat  sand,  giv- 
ing its  yellow  the  look  of  bronze,  when  all  knelt  with  their 
faces  to  the  east — Ishmael  in  front  with  sixty  or  seventy 
rows  of  men  behind  him.  It  was  really  very  moving  and 
stately  to  see,  and  made  me  understand  what  was  meant  by 
somebody  who  said  he  could  never  look  upon  Moham- 
medans at  prayers,  and  I  think  of  the  millions  of  hearts 
which  at  the  same  hour  were  sending  their  great  chorus 
of  praise  to  God,  without  wishing  to  be  a  Moslem.  I  did 
not  wish  to  be  that,  but  with  the  odious  Arab  woman  always 
watching  me,  I  found  myself  fingering  my  rosary  and  pre- 
tending to  be  a  good  Muslemah,  though  in  reality  I  was 
repeating  the  Lord's  prayer. 

It  is  dark  night  now,  the  fires  at  which  the  people  baked 
their  durah  and  cooked  their  asida  are  dying  down,  and  half 
the  camp  is  already  asleep  in  this  huge  wild  wilderness, 
under  its  big  white  stars. 

I  must  try  to  sleep,  too,  so  good-night,  dearest,  and  God 
bless  you!  I  don't  know  what  is  to  be  the  end  of  all  this, 
or  where  I  am  to  despatch  my  letter  or  when  you  are  to 
receive  it,  but  I  am  sure  you  are  alive  and  listening  to  me — 
and  what  should  I  do  if  I  could  not  talk  to  you  ? 

Helena. 


VI 

SotJDAx  Desert   (Somewhere). 

It  is  ten  days,  my  dear  Gordon,  since  I  wrote  my  last 
letter  and  there  has  never  been  an  hour  between  when  I 
dared  pretend  to  this  abomination  of  Egypt  (she  is  now 
snoring  on  the  angerib  by  my  side,  sweetheart)  that  I  must 
while  away  an  hour  by  writing  in  my  "  Journal." 

Such  a  time!    Boil  and  bubble,  toil  and  trouble!    Every 


428  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

morning  before  daybreak  the  wild  peal  of  the  elephant's 
horn,  then  the  whole  camp  at  prayers,  with  the  rising  sun 
in  our  faces,  then  the  striking  of  tents  and  the  ruckling, 
roaring,  gurgling  and  grunting  of  camels  which  resembles 
nothing  so  much  as  a  stj-ful  of  pigs  in  extremis;  then  twelve 
hours  of  trudging  through  a  forloni  and  lifeless  solitude 
with  only  a  rest  for  the  midday  meal ;  then  the  elephant's 
horn  again  and  evening  prayers,  with  the  savage  sun  be- 
hind us,  and  then  settling  down  to  sleep  in  some  blank  and 
numb  and  soundless  wilderness — such  is  our  daily  story. 

My  goodness,  Ishmael  is  a  wonderful  person !  But  all 
the  same  the  "  divine  "  atmosphere  that  is  gathering  about 
him  is  positively  frightening.  I  suspect  Black  Zogal  of 
being  the  author  and  "  only  begetter "  of  a  good  deal  of 
this  idolatry.  He  gallops  on  a  horse  in  front  of  us,  cry- 
ing, "  There  is  no  god  but  God,"  and  "  The  Messenger  of 
God  is  coming,"  with  the  result  that  crowds  of  people  are 
waiting  for  Ishmael  at  every  village,  with  their  houses  swept, 
their  straw  mats  laid  down,  and  their  carpets  spread  on 
the  divans,  all  eager  to  entertain  him,  to  open  their  secret 
granaries  to  feed  his  followers  or  at  least  to  kiss  the  hem 
of  his  caftan. 

Every  day  our  numbers  increase  and  we  go  off  from  the 
greater  towns  to  the  beating  of  copper  war  drums,  the  blow- 
ing of  antelope  horns,  and  sometimes  to  the  cracking  of 
rifles.  It  is  all  very  crude  in  its  half-savage  magnificence, 
but  it  is  almost  terrifying,  too,  and  the  sight  of  this  emo- 
tional creature,  so  liable  to  spasms  of  religious  ecstasy, 
riding  on  his  milk-white  camel  through  these  fiercely  fanati- 
cal people  like  a  God,  makes  one  tremble  to  think  of  the 
time  that  will  surely  come  when  they  find  out,  and  he  finds 
out,  that  after  all  he  is  nothing  but  a  man. 

What  sights,  what  scenes!  The  other  day  there  was  a 
fearful  sand-storm,  in  which  a  fierce  cloud  came  sweeping 
out  of  the  horizon,  big  with  flame  and  wrath,  and  it  fell  on 
us  like  a  mountain  of  hell.  As  long  as  it  lasted  the  people 
lay  flat  on  the  sand  or  crouched  under  their  kneeling  camels, 
and  when  it  was  over  they  rose  in  the  dead  blankness  with 
the  red  sand  on  their  faces  and  sent  up,  as  with  one  voice, 


THE    COMING   DAY  429 

a  cry  of  lamentation  and  despair.  But  Ishmael  only  smiled 
and  said,  "  Let  us  thank  God  for  this  day,  oh,  my  brothers," 
and  ■svhen  the  people  asked  him  why,  he  answered,  "  Because 
we  can  never  know  anything  so  bad  again." 

That  simple  word  set  every  face  shining,  and  as  soon  as 
we  reached  the  next  village — Black  Zogal  as  usual  having 
gone  before  us — lo,  we  heard  a  story  of  how  Ishmael  had 
commanded  a  sand-storm  to  pass  over  our  heads  without 
touching  us — and  it  had! 

Another  day  we  had  stifling  heat,  in  which  the  glare  of 
the  sand  made  our  eyes  ache  and  the  air  burn  like  the 
breath  of  a  furnace.  The  water  in  the  water-bottles  became 
so  hot  that  we  dared  not  pour  it  on  to  the  back  of  our  hands, 
and  even  some  of  the  camels  dropped  dead  under  the  blazing 
eye  of  the  sun. 

And  when  at  length  the  sun  sank  beneath  the  horizon 
and  left  us  in  the  cool  dark  night,  the  people  could  not  sleep 
for  want  of  water  to  bathe  their  swelling  eyelids  and  to 
moisten  their  cracking  throats,  but  Ishmael  walked  through 
their  tents  and  comforted  them,  telling  them  it  was  never 
intended  that  man  should  always  live  well  and  comfortably, 
yet  God,  if  He  willed  it,  would  bring  them  safely  to  their 
journey's  end. 

After  that  the  people  lay  down  on  the  scorching  sand 
as  if  their  thirst  had  suddenly  been  quenched,  and  next  day 
on  coming  to  the  first  village  we  heard  that  in  the  middle 
of  a  valley  of  black  and  blistered  hills,  Ishmael  smote  with 
his  staff  a  metallic  rock  that  was  twisted  into  the  semblance 
of  a  knotted  snake,  and  a  well  of  ice-cold  water  sprang  out 
of  it,  and  everybody  drank  of  it  and  then  "  shook  his  fist 
at  the  sun." 

Nearly  all  last  week  our  people  were  in  poor  heart  by 
reason  of  the  mirages  which  mocked  and  misled  them,  show- 
ing an  enchanted  land  on  the  margin  of  the  sky,  with  beauti- 
ful blue  lakes  and  rivers  and  green  islands  and  shady  groves 
of  palm,  and  sweet,  long  emerald  grasses  that  quivered 
beneath  a  refreshing  breeze,  but  when,  from  their  monoto- 
nous track  on  the  parched  and  naked  desert,  the  poor  souls 

would  go  in  search  of  these  phantoms,  thev  would  find  noth- 
29 


430  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

ing  but  a  great  lone  land,  in  the  fulness  of  a  still  deeper 
desolation. 

Then  they  would  fling  themselves  down  in  despair  and 
ask  why  they  had  been  brought  out  into  the  wilderness  to 
die,  but  Ishmael,  with  the  same  calm  smile  as  before,  would 
tell  them  that  the  life  of  this  world  was  all  a  mirage,  a 
troubled  dream,  a  dream  in  a  sleep,  that  the  life  to  come  was 
the  awakening,  and  that  he  whose  dream  was  most  disturbed 
was  nearest  the  gates  of  Paradise. 

Eesult :  At  the  next  town  we  came  to  we  were  told  that 
when  we  were  in  the  middle  of  the  wilderness  Ishmael  had 
made  an  oasis  to  spring  up  around  us,  with  waving  trees 
and  rippling  water,  and  the  air  full  of  the  songs  of  birds, 
the  humming  of  bees  and  the  perfume  of  flowers,  and  we 
all  fell  asleep  in  it  and  when  we  awoke  in  the  morning  we 
believed  we  had  been  in  heaven ! 

Good-night,  my  dear — dear!  Oh,  to  think  that  all  this 
wilderness  divides  us!  But  ma'aleysh!  In  another  hour  I 
shall  be  asleep  and  then — then  I  shall  be  in  your  arms. 


II 

Oh,  my !  Oh,  my  !  Two  incidents  have  happened  to-day, 
dearest,  that  can  hardly  fail  of  great  results.  Early  in  the 
morning  we  came  upon  the  new  convict  settlement — a  rough- 
bastioned  place  built  of  sun-dried  bricks  in  the  middle  of 
the  Soudan  desert.  It  contains  the  hundred  and  fifty  Nota- 
bles Avho  were  imprisoned  by  the  Special  Tribunal  for 
assaults  on  the  Army  of  Occupation  when  they  were  defend- 
ing the  house  of  your  friend,  the  Grand  Cadi.  How  Ishmael 
discovered  this  I  do  not  know,  but  what  he  did  was  like 
another  manifestation  of  the  "mystic  sense." 

Stopping  the  caravan,  with  an  unexpected  blast  of  the 
elephant's  horn,  he  caused  ten  rows  of  men  to  be  ranged 
around  the  prison,  and  after  silence  had  been  proclaimed, 
he  called  on  them  to  say  the  first  Surah :  "  Praise  be  to 
God,  the  Lord  of  all  creatures." 

It  had  a  weird  eff'ect  in  that  lonesome  place,  as  of  a 
great  monotonous  wave  breaking  on  a  bar  far  out  at  sea. 


THE   COMING   DAY  431 

but  what  followed  was  still  more  eerie.  After  a  breathless 
moment  in  which  everybody  seemed  to  listen  and  hold  his 
breath,  there  came  the  deadened  and  muffled  sound  of  the 
same  words  repeated  by  the  prisoners  within  the  walls: 
"Praise  be  to  God,  the  Lord  of  all  creatures!" 

When  this  was  over  Ishmael  cried,  "  Peace,  brothers ! 
Patience!  The  day  of  your  deliverance  is  near!  The  Ke- 
deemer  is  coming!  All  your  wrongs  will  be  righted,  all 
your  bruises  will  be  healed !     Peace !  " 

And  then  there  came  from  within  the  prison  walls  the 
muffled  answer,  "  Peace !  " 

The  second  of  the  incidents  occurred  about  midday,  when 
crossing  a  lifeless  waste  of  gloomy  volcanic  sand,  we  came 
upon  a  desert  graveyard  with  those  rounded  hillocks  of  clay 
which  make  one  think  that  the  dead  beneath  must  be  strug- 
gling in  their  sleep. 

At  a  word  from  Ishmael  all  the  men  of  our  company  who 
belonged  to  that  country  stepped  out  from  the  caravan,  and, 
riding  round  and  round  the  cemetery,  shouted  the  names 
of  their  kindred  who  were  buried  there :  "  Ali !  "  "  Abdul !  " 
"Mohammed!"     "  Mahmud  !  "     "Said!" 

After  that  Ishmael  himself  rode  forward,  and  addressing 
the  dead  as  if  they  could  hear,  he  cried,  "  Peace  to  you,  oh, 
people  of  the  graves!  Wait!  Lie  still!  The  night  is 
passing !     The  daylight  dawns  !  " 

It  was  thrilling!  Strange,  simple,  primitive,  crude  in 
its  faith  perhaps,  but  such  love  and  reverence  for  the  dead 
contrasted  only  too  painfully  with  the  vandalism  of  our 
"  Christian "  vultures  (yclept  Egyptologists)  who  rifle  the 
graves  of  the  old  Egyptians  for  their  jewels  and  mummy 
beads  and  then  leave  their  bones  in  tons  to  bleach  on  the 
bare  sand — a  condition  that  is  sufficient  of  itself  to  account 
for  Jacob's  prayer,  "  Bury  me  not,  I  pray  thee,  in  the  land 
of  Egypt." 

And  so  say  all  of  us!  But  seriously,  my  dear  Gordon, 
I  quite  expect  to  find  at  the  next  stopping  place  a  story  of 
how  Ishmael  recited  the  Fatihah  and  the  walls  of  a  prison 
fell  down  before  him,  and  how  he  spoke  to  the  dead  and  they 
replied. 


432  THE    WHITK  'prophet 

III 

It  has  happened !  I  knew  it  would !  I  have  seen  it 
coming  and  it  has  come — without  any  help  from  Black 
Zogal's  crazy  imagination,  either.  There  was  only  one  thing 
wanted  to  comi)lete  the  faith  of  these  people  in  Ishmael's 
"  divinity  " — a  miracle,  and  it  has  been  performed ! 

I  suppose  it  really  belongs  to  the  order  of  things  that 
happen  according  to  natural  law — magnetism,  suggestion, 
God  knows  what — but  my  pen  iDositively  jibs  at  recording 
it,  so  surely  will  it  seem  as  if  I  had  copied  it  out  of  a 
Book  I  need  not  name. 

This  afternoon  our  vast  human  tortoise  was  trudging 
along  and  a  halt  was  being  called  to  enable  stragglers  to 
come  up,  when  a  funeral  procession  crossed  our  track  on  its 
way  to  a  graveyard  on  the  stony  hillside  opposite. 

The  Sheikh  of  a  neighbouring  village  had  lost  his  only 
child,  a  girl  twelve  years  of  age,  and  behind  the  blind  men 
chanting  the  Koran,  the  hired  mourners  with  their  plaintive 
wail  and  the  body  on  a  bare  board,  the  old  father  walked  in 
his  trouble,  rending  his  garments  and  tearing  off  his  turban. 

It  was  a  pitiful  sight,  and  when  the  mourners  came  up 
to  Ishmael  and  told  him  the  Sheikh  was  a  God-fearing  man 
who  had  not  deserved  this  sorrow,  I  could  see  that  he  was 
deeply  moved,  for  he  called  on  the  procession  to  stop,  and 
making  his  camel  kneel,  he  got  down,  and  tried  to  comfort 
the  old  man,  saying :  "  May  the  name  of  God  be  upon 
thee !  " 

Then  thinking,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  to  show  sympathy 
with  the  poor  father,  he  stepped  up  to  the  bier  and  took  the 
little  brown  hand  which,  with  its  silver  ring  and  bracelet, 
hung  over  the  board,  and  held  it  for  a  few  moments  while 
he  asked  when  the  child  had  died  and  what  she  had  died  of, 
and  he  was  told  she  had  died  this  morning  and  the  sun 
had  killed  her. 

All  at  once  I  saw  Ishmael's  hand  tremble  and  a  strange 
contraction  pass  over  his  face,  and  at  the  next  moment  in  a 
quivering  voice  he  called  on  the  bearers  to  put  down  the 
bier.     They  did  so  and  at  his  bidding  they  uncovered  the 


THE    COMING   DAY  433 

body  and  I  saw  the  facp.  It  was  the  face  of  the  dead !  Yes, 
the  dead,  as  lifeless  and  as  beautiful  as  a  face  of  bronze. 

At  the  next  instant  Ishmael  was  on  his  knees  beside  the 
body  of  the  girl  and  asking  the  father  for  her  name.  It 
was  Helimah. 

"Helimah!  Your  father  is  waiting  for  you!  Come," 
said  Ishmael,  touching  the  child's  eyes  and  smoothing  her 
forehead,  and  speaking  in  a  soft,  caressing  voice. 

Gordon,  as  I  am  a  truthful  woman,  I  saw  it  happen. 
A  slight  fluttering  of  the  eyelids,  a  faint  heaving  of  the 
bosom,  and  then  the  eyes  were  open  and  at  the  next  moment 
the  girl  was  standing  on  her  feet ! 

God,  what  a  scene  it  was  that  followed !  The  Sheikh  on 
his  knees  kissing  the  hem  of  Ishmael's  caftan,  the  men 
prostrating  themselves  before  him,  and  the  women  tearing 
away  the  black  veils  that  covered  their  faces  and  crying, 
"  Blessed  be  the  woman  that  bore  you !  " 

It  has  been  what  the  Arabs  call  a  red  day,  and  at  that 
moment  the  setting  sun,  catching  the  clouds  of  dust  raised 
by  the  camels,  made  the  whole  world  one  brilliant  fiery  red. 
What  wonder  if  these  poor,  benighted  people  thought  the 
Lord  of  Heaven  himself  liad  just  come  down? 

We  left  the  village  loaded  with  blessings  (Black  Zogal 
galloping  frantically  in  front),  and  when  we  came  to  the 
next  town — Berber  with  its  miles  of  roofless  mud-huts,  telling 
of  dervish  destruction — crowds  came  out  to  salute  Ishmael 
as  the  "  Guided  One,"  "  The  True  Mahdi,"  and  "  The  Deliv- 
erer," bringing  their  sick  and  lame  and  blind  for  him  to 
heal  them  and  praying  of  him  to  remain. 

Oh,  my  dear  Gordon,  it  is  terrifying!  Ishmael  is  no 
longer  the  messenger,  the  forerunner;  he  is  now  the  Re- 
deemer he  foretold!  I  believe  really  lie  is  beginning  to 
believe  it!  This  is  the  pillar  of  fire  that  is  henceforth  to 
guide  us  on  our  way.  Already  our  numbers  are  three  times 
what  they  were  when  we  left  Khartoum.  What  is  to  hap- 
pen when  thirty  thousand  persons,  following  a  leader  they 
believe  to  be  divine,  arrive  in  Cairo  and  are  confronted  by 
five  thousand  British  soldiers? 

Xo !     It  is  not  bloodshed  I  am  afraid  of — I  know  you 


434  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

will  prevent  that.     But  what  of  the  awful  undeceiving,  the 
utter  degradation,  the  crushing  collapse? 

And  I  ?  Don't  think  me  a  coward,  Gordon — it  isn't  every- 
body who  was  born  brave  like  you — but  when  I  think  of 
what  I  have  done  to  this  man,  and  how  surely  it  will  be 
found  out  that  I  have  betrayed  him,  I  tell  myself  that  the 
moment  I  touch  the  skirts  of  civilisation  I  must  run  away. 

But  meantime  our  pilgrimage  is  moving  on — to  its  death, 
as  it  seems  to  me — and  I  am  moving  on  with  it  as  a  slave — 
the  slave  of  my  own  actions.  If  this  is  Destiny  it  is  wicked- 
ly cruel,  I  will  say  that  for  it ;  and  if  it  is  God,  I  think 
He  might  be  a  jealous  God  without  making  the  blundering 
impulse  of  one  poor  girl  the  means  of  wrecking  the  hopes 
of  a  whole  race  of  helpless  people.  Of  course  it  acts  as  a 
sop  to  my  conscience  to  remember  what  you  said  about  God 
never  making  mistakes,  but  I  cannot  help  wishing  that  in 
His  inscrutable  wisdom  He  could  have  left  me  out. 

Oh,  my  dear — dear!  Where  are  you  now,  I  wonder? 
What  are  you  doing?  What  is  being  done  to  you?  Have 
you  seen  your  father,  the  Princess  and  the  Grand  Cadi? 
I  suppose  I  must  not  expect  news  until  we  reach  Assouan. 
You  promised  to  write  to  me,  and  you  will — I  know  you 
will.  Good-night,  dearest !  My  love,  my  love,  my  only  love ! 
But  I  must  stop.  We  are  to  make  a  night  journey.  The 
camp  is  in  movement  and  my  camel  is  waiting.    Adieu ! 

Helena. 


vn 

Serai  Fum  El  Khalig,  Cairo. 

Salaam  aleyhoum!  Ten  days  have  passed,  my  dear 
Helena,  since  I  wrote  my  last  letter,  and  during  that  time 
I  have  learned  all  that  is  going  on  here — having,  in  my 
assumed  character  of  Ishmael  in  disguise,  interviewed  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  Ulema,  including  that  double-dyed  dastard, 
the  Grand  Cadi. 

Under  the  wing — the  rather  fluttered  one — of  the  good 
old  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar,  1  saw  the  oily  reprobate  in  his 


THE    COMING   DAY  435 

own  house,  and  in  his  honeyed  voice  he  made  pretence  of 
receiving  me  with  boundless  courtesy.  I  was  his  "  beloved 
friend  in  God,"  "  the  reformer  of  Islam,"  called  to  the  task 
of  bringing  men  back  to  the  Holy  Koran,  to  the  Prophet, 
and  to  eternal  happiness.  On  the  other  hand,  my  father  was 
"  the  slave  of  power,"  the  "  evil  doer,"  the  "  adventurer,"  and 
the  "great  assassin,"  who  was  led  away  by  worldly  things 
and  warring  against  God. 

More  than  once  my  hands  itched  to  take  the  hypocrite 
from  behind  by  the  ample  folds  of  his  Turkish  garments 
and  fling  him  like  vermin  down  the  stairs,  but  I  was  there 
to  hear  what  he  was  doing,  so  I  smothered  a  few  strong  ex- 
pressions which  only  the  recording  angel  knows  anything 
about,  and  was  compelled  to  sit  and  listen. 

My  dear  Helena,  it  is  even  worse  than  I  expected.  Some 
of  the  double-dealing  Egyptian  Ministers,  backed  by  certain 
of  the  diplomatic  coi-ps,  but  inspired  by  this  Chief  Judge 
in  Islam,  have  armed  a  considerable  part  of  the  native  popu- 
lace, in  the  hope  that  the  night  when  England,  in  the  per- 
sons of  her  chief  officials,  is  merrymaking  on  the  island  of 
Ghezirah,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  British  force  is  away 
in  the  provinces,  quelling  disturbances  and  keeping  peace, 
the  people  may  rise,  the  Egyptian  Army  may  mutiny,  and 
Ishmael's  followers  may  take  possession  of  the  city. 

All  this,  and  more,  with  many  suave  words  about  the 
"  enlightening  help  of  God  "  and  the  certainty  of  "  a  blood- 
less victory,"  in  which  the  Almighty  would  make  me  glori- 
ous, and  the  English  would  be  driven  out  of  Egypt,  the 
crafty  scoundrel  did  not  hesitate  to  propound  as  a  means 
whereby  the  true  faith  might  be  established  all  over  Europe, 
Rome,  and  London." 

Since  my  interview  with  the  Grand  Cadi  I  have  learned 
of  a  certainty,  what  I  had  already  surmised,  that  the  Con- 
sul-General  has  been  made  aware  of  the  whole  plot,  and  is 
taking  his  own  measures  to  defeat  it.  Undoubtedly  the  first 
duty  of  a  government  is  to  preserve  order  and  to  establish 
authority,  and  I  know  my  father  well  enough  to  be  sure  that, 
at  any  cost,  he  will  set  himself  to  do  both.  But  what  will 
happen  ? 


436  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Mark  my  word — the  British  Army  will  be  ordered  back 
to  the  Capital — perhaps  on  the  eve  of  the  festival — and  as 
surely  as  it  enters  the  city  on  the  night  of  the  King's 
Birthday  there  will  be  massacre  in  the  streets,  for  the 
Egyptian  soldiers  will  rebel,  and  the  people  who  have  been 
provided  with  arms  from  the  secret  service  money  of  Eng- 
land's enemies  will  rise,  thinking  the  object  of  the  Govern- 
ment is  to  prevent  the  entrance  of  Ishmael  and  his  fol- 
lowers. 

Result — a  holy  war,  and  as  that  is  the  only  kind  of  war 
that  was  ever  yet  worth  waging,  it  will  put  Egypt  in  the  right 
and  England  in  the  wrong. 

Does  Ishmael  expect  this?  No,  he  thinks  he  is  to  make 
a  peaceful  entry  into  Cairo  when  he  comes  to  establish  his 
AVorld  State,  his  millennium  of  universal  faith  and  empire. 
Do  the  Ulema  expect  it?  No,  they  think  the  Army  of  Oc- 
cupation will  be  far  away  when  their  crazy  scheme  is  carried 
into  effect.  Does  my  father  expect  it  ?  Not  for  one  moment, 
so  sure  is  he — I  know  it  perfectly,  I  have  heard  him  say  it 
a  score  of  times — that  the  Egyptian  soldier  will  not  fight 
alone,  and  that  Egyptian  civilians  can  be  scattered  by  a 
water  hose. 

Heaven  help  him !  If  ever  a  man  was  preparing  to  draw 
a  sword  from  its  scabbard  it  is  my  father  at  this  moment, 
but  it  is  only  because  he  is  played  upon  and  deceived  by 
this  son  and  successor  of  Caiaphas,  the  damned.  I'll  go 
and  open  his  eyes  to  the  Grand  Cadi's  duplicity.  I'll  say, 
"  Bring  your  oily  scoundrel  face  to  face  with  me  and  see 
what  I  will  say.  If  he  denies  it  you  must  choose  for  your- 
self which  of  us  you  will  believe — your  own  son,  who  has 
nothing  to  gain  by  coming  back  to  warn  you,  or  this  reptile, 
who  is  fighting  for  the  life  of  his  rotten  old  class." 

The  thing  is  hateful  to  me,  and  if  there  were  any  other 
possible  way  of  stopping  the  Avretched  slaughter,  I  should 
not  go,  for  I  know  it  will  end  in  the  Consul-Gcneral  handing 
me  over  to  the  military  authorities  to  be  court-martialled 
for  my  former  offences,  and,  as  you  may  say,  it  is  horrible 
to  put  a  father,  with  a  high  sense  of  duty,  into  the  position 
of  being  compelled  to  cut  off  his  own  son. 


THE    COMIXG    DAY  437 

Mcanuhile,  T  am  conscious  that  the  police  continue  to 
watch  me,  and  I  am  just  as  much  a  prisoner  as  if  I  were 
already  within  the  walls  of  jail.  For  their  own  purposes 
they  are  leaving  me  at  liberty,  and  I  believe  they  will  go  on 
doing  so  until  after  the  night  of  the  King's  Birthday.  After 
that  God   knows  what  will  happen. 

I  am  writing  late  and  I  must  turn  in  soon,  so  good-night 
and  God  bless  and  preserve  you,  my  own  darling — mine, 
mine,  mine,  and  nobody  else's — remember  that !  Hafiz  con- 
tinues to  protest  that  the  Prophet  has  a  love  for  you,  and 
will  bring  out  everything  for  the  best.  I  think  so,  too — 
I  really  do,  so  you  must  not  be  frightened  about  anything 
I  have  said  in  this  letter. 

There  is  only  one  thing  frightens,  and  that  is  the 
damnable  trick  memory  plays  me  when  it  rakes  up  all  you 
told  me  of  the  terms  of  your  betrothal  to  Ishmael.  I  can 
bear  it  pretty  weir  during  the  day,  but  in  that  dead  gray 
hour  of  the  early  morning  when  the  moonlight  slinks  into 
the  dawn,  before  the  sparrows  begin  to  chop  the  air  and 
the  Arabs  to  rend  it,  I  find  myself  thinking  that  though 
Ishmael,  when  he  proposed  marriage  to  you,  may  have  been 
thinking  of  nothing  but  how  to  protect  your  good  name, 
being  a  pure-minded  man  who  had  consecrated  his  life  to  a 
spiritual  mission,  yet  the  constant  presence  of  a  beautiful 
woman  by  his  side  must  sooner  or  later  sweep  away  his 
pledge. 

He  wouldn't  be  a  man  if  it  didn't,  and,  the  prophet  not- 
withstanding, Ishmael  is  that  to  his  finger  tips.  But  heaven 
help  me !  I  daren't  let  my  mind  dwell  on  this  subject  or  I 
should  have  to  fly  back  to  you  and  leave  my  task  here  unful- 
filled. So  as  often  as  I  shut  my  eyes  and  see  you  trudg- 
ing through  the  desert  in  Ishmael's  camp  I  tell  myself  that 
Providence  has  something  for  you  to  do  there — must  have 
— though  what  the  deuce  it  is  I  don't  yet  see. 

No  matter !  D.  V.  I'll  know  some  day,  and  meantime 
I'll  nail  my  colours  to  the  mast  of  your  strength  and  cour- 
age, knowing  that  the  bravest  girl  in  the  world  belongs  to 
me,  and  wherever  she  is  she  is  mine  and  always  will  be. 

GORDOK. 


438  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

P.  S.  I  am  now  despatching  my  two  letters  to  Assouan 
by  Hamid  Ibrahim — the  second  of  the  two  Sheikhs  who 
went  with  me  to  Alexandria — and  if  you  find  you  can  send 
me  an  answer — for  God's  sake  do.  I  am  hungering  and 
thirsting  and  starving  and  perishing  for  a  letter  from  you, 
a  line,  a  word,  a  syllable,  the  scratch  of  your  pen  on  a  piece 
of  paper.     Send  it,  for  heaven's  sake! 

I  hear  that  hundreds  of  native  boats  are  going  up  to 
Assouan  to  bring  you  down  the  Xile,  so  look  out  for  my 
next  letter  when  you  get  to  Luxor — I  may  have  something 
to  tell  you  by  that  time. 


VIII 

Nubian  Desert   (Axywhere). 

Oh,  my  Gordon:  Such  startling  developments!  Ishmael's 
character  has  made  a  new  manifestation.  It  concerns  me, 
and  I  hardly  know  whether  I  ought  to  speak  of  it.  Yet 
I  must — I  cannot  help  myself. 

I  find  there  is  something  distinctly  masculine  in  his  in- 
terest in  me!  In  Khartoum  (in  spite  of  certain  evidences 
to  the  contraiy)  I  Avas  always  fool  enough  to  suppose  that 
it  was  without  sex — what  milksops  call  Platonic — as  if  any 
such  relation  between  a  man  and  a  woman  ever  was  or  ever 
will  be! 

Oh,  I  know  what  you  arc  saying!  "That  foolish  young 
woman  thinks  Ishmael  is  falling  in  love  with  her."  But 
wait,  sir,  only  wait  and  listen. 

We  left  Berber  at  night  and  rode  four  hours  in  the 
moonlight.  Goodness !  What  ghosts  the  desert  is  full  of — 
ghosts  of  pyramids  that  loom  large  and  then  fade  away! 
Such  mysterious  lights !  Such  spectral  watch-towers  stand- 
ing on  spectral  heights !  It  was  what  the  Arabs  call  "  a 
white  night,"  and  besides  the  moon  in  its  splendour  there 
was  a  vast  star-strewn  sky.  Sometimes  we  heard  the  hyena's 
cry,  sometimes  the  jackal's  ululation,  and  through  the  sil- 
ver shimmering  haze  we  could  see  the  wild  creatures  scuttling 
away  from  us. 


THE    COMING   DAY  439 

Thus  on  and  on  went  our  weary  caravan — the  camels 
like  great  swans  with  their  steady  upturned  heads,  slither- 
ing as  if  in  slippers  along  the  noiseless  sand,  and  many  of 
the  tired  people  asleep  on  them.  But  I  could  not  sleep,  and 
Ishmael,  who  was  very  much  awake,  rode  by  my  side  and 
talked  to  me. 

It  was  about  love,  and  included  one  pretty  story  of  a 
daughter  of  the  Bedawee  who  married  a  Sultan — how  she 
scorned  the  silken  clothes  he  gave  her,  and  would  not  live 
in  his  palace — saying  she  was  no  fellaha  to  sleep  in  houses — 
and  made  him  come  out  into  the  desert  with  her  and  dwell 
in  a  tent.  I  thought  there  was  a  certain  self- reference  in 
the  story,  but  that  was  not  all  by  any  means. 

At  midnight  we  halted  by  a  group  of  wells,  and  while 
our  vast  army  of  animals  was  being  watered,  my  tent  was 
set  up  outside  the  camp  so  that  I  might  rest  without  noise. 
I  suppose  I  had  been  looking  faint  and  pale,  for  just  as  I 
was  listening  to  the  monotonous  voice  of  a  boy  who,  at 
a  fire  not  far  away,  was  singing  both  himself  and  me  to 
sleep,  Ishmael  came  with  a  dish  of  medida,  saying,  "  Drink 
this — it  will  do  you  good." 

Then  he  sat  down,  and,  with  that  paralysing  plainness 
of  speech  which  the  Easterns  have,  began  to  talk  of  love 
again,  especially  in  relation  to  the  duty  of  renunciation, 
quoting  in  that  connection  "  the  lord  of  the  Christians," 
who  had  said,  "  There  be  eunuchs,  which  have  made  them- 
selves eunuchs  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven's  sake." 

It  was  more  than  embarrassing  from  the  beginning,  but 
it  became  startling  and  almost  shocking  when  he  went  on 
to  talk  about  Jesus  in  relation  to  Mary  Magdalene  (whom 
he  supposed  to  be  the  sister  of  Martha)  and  of  the  home 
at  Bethany  as  the  only  place  in  which  he  found  the  solace 
of  female  society,  and  how  he  had  to  turn  his  back  on  the 
love  of  woman  for  his  work's  sake. 

We  are  so  accustomed  to  think  of  Jesus'  inaccessibility 
to  human  affection  as  if  it  were  a  merit  in  him  to  be  supe- 
rior to  love,  that  it  made  my  skin  creep  to  hear  this  person 
of  another  faith  talk  like  that.  But  I  shivered  a  good  deal 
more  when  he  came  to  closer  quarters  and  said  that  renun- 


440  THE    WHITK    PROPHET 

ciation  was  the  duty  of  every  one  on  whom  God  had  laid 
a  great  mission  until  his  task  teas  finished,  and  then  .  .  . 
then  it  was  just  as  much  his  duty  to  live  as  a  man! 

He  went  away  quite  calmly,  commending  me  to  God,  but 
he  left  me  in  a  state  of  terror,  and  though  I  was  nearly 
worn  to  death  by  the  double  journey  I  did  not  sleep  a 
wink  that  night,  for  thinking  of  that  accursed  day  of 
the  betrothal,  and  what  would  happen  if  he  ever  broke 
his  promise  and  came  to  me  to  claim  the  rights  of  a 
husband. 

The  next  day  or  two  passed  without  any  serious  incident 
except  that  Ishmael,  who  had  grown  a  pair  of  haunting, 
imploring  eyes,  was  always  riding  his  camel  by  its  halter 
and  nose-rein  at  the  side  of  my  litter,  and  talking  constantly 
on  the  same  subject.  But  then  came  an  event  of  thrilling 
interest.  Can  I— shall  I— must  I  tell  you  about  it  ?  Yes,  I 
can,  I  shall,  I  must ! 

Out  here  on  the  desert  I  always  feel  as  if  I  were  travel- 
ling in  Bible  lands,  and  if  our  caravan  were  to  come  upon 
"  Abram  the  Hebrew  "  and  Rachel  and  Rebecca  flying  away 
with  some  Bedouin  Jacob  I  should  not  be  the  least  sur- 
prised, so  it  seemed  natural  enough  that  yesterday,  in  the 
country  of  the  Bisharin  Arabs,  we  lit  upon  Laban,  living 
as  a  patriarch  among  his  people. 

There  were  his  sons  and  his  sons'  sons,  big,  brawny  boys, 
strong  and  clean  of  limb,  and  with  their  loins  well  girt,  but 
hardly  anything  else  covered,  and  there  were  "  the  souls  born 
of  his  house  "  in  their  felt  skull  caps  and  blue  galabeahs. 
But  what  most  concerned  me  were  his  two  splendid  daugh- 
ters. Xo  corsetted  women  out  of  Bond  Street,  sir,  but 
superbly  fine  and  majestic  young  females,  tall  and  straight, 
with  big  bosoms  like  pomegranates,  ringletted  black  hair, 
clear  oval  faces,  the  olive  skin  of  the  purest  Arab  blood,  and 
large  black  eyes  that  shone  like  gems. 

Such  a  woman,  I  thought,  must  Ruth  have  been  when 
she  lay  at  the  feet  of  Boaz,  but  lo !  it  never  occurred  to  me 
that  the  people's  faith  in  Ishmael's  "divinity"  did  not  for- 
bid their  ascribing  to  him  the  attributes  of  a  man.  Shall 
I   go   on?     Yes,   I   will,   for   already   you   know   that   your 


TllK    CUMING    DAY  441 

Helena,  your  lady-love,  is  no  mealy-mouthed  miss — never 
was  and  never  can  be. 

Well,  last  night,  late,  while  I  was  looking  at  the  shadowy 
forms  of  the  camels  coming  and  going  in  the  light  of  the 
dying  fires,  I  saw  Laban,  who  had  been  pouring  hospitalities 
upon  us,  leading  one  of  his  daughters,  whose  head  was  low, 
to  Ishmael's  tent.  It  was  like  something  horrible  out  of 
the  Old  Testament,  but  I  had  to  watch — I  simply  could  not 
help  it — and  after  a  while  I  saw  Laban  and  Rachel  going 
away  together,  and  then  the  old  man's  head  as  well  as  the 
girl's  was  down. 

Act  one  being  finished  last  night,  act  two  began  to-day. 
We  are  in  the  middle  of  the  Xubian  desert  now,  and  as  the 
heat  is  great  under  the  red  wrath  of  the  fiery  mountains 
on  either  side,  we  have  to  rest  for  three  hours  in  the  middle 
of  every  day.  Well,  at  noon  to-day  Ishmael  came  to  my  tent 
and  talked  of  love  again.  It  was  a  heavenly  passion.  Surely 
God  had  created  it.  Yet  the  Christians  had  made  "  mock- 
ery," and  were  thus  rebuking  the  Almighty  and  claiming 
to  be  wiser  than  He.  The  union  of  man  and  woman  with- 
out love  was  sin.  That  was  what  made  so  many  Moslem 
marriages  sinful.  Marriage  was  not  betrothal,  not  the  join- 
ing of  hands  under  a  handkerchief,  not  the  repeating  of 
prayers  after  a  Cadi ;  marriage  was  the  sacrament  of  love, 
and  love  being  present  and  nothing  else  intervening,  re- 
nunciation was  icrong;  it  was  against  the  spirit  of  Islam, 
and  no  matter  who  he  might  be,  a  man  should  live  as  a  man. 

I  don't  know  what  I  said,  or  whether  I  said  anything, 
but  I  do  know  that  the  blood  left  my  heart  and  seemed 
long  in  making  its  way  back  again.  My  skin  was  creeping, 
and  I  had  a  feeling  which  I  had  never  known  before — a  feel- 
ing of  repulsion — the  feeling  of  the  white  woman  about  the 
black  man.  Ishmael  is  not  black  by  any  means,  but  I  felt 
exactly  as  if  he  were,  for  I  could  see  quite  well  what  was 
going  on  in  his  mind.  He  was  thinking  of  his  journey's 
end,  of  the  day  when  his  work  would  be  finished,  and  he 
was  promising  himself  the  realization  of  his  love. 

That  shall  never,  never  be!  No,  not  under  any  circum- 
stances !     My   God,  no,  not   for  worlds   of  worlds !     Good- 


442  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

night,  Gordon !  I  may  be  betrothed  to  this  man,  but  there 
is  no  law  of  nature  that  binds  me  to  him.  I  belong  to  you, 
just  as  Rachel  belonged  to  Jacob,  and  whatever  I  may  be 
in  my  religion  I  am  no  trinitarian  in  my  love  at  all  events. 
Good-bye,  dearest !  Don't  let  what  I  have  said  alarm  you. 
Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  saying  7ioii' :  "  That  foolish  young 
woman  expects  me  to  hear  her  when  I  am  in  Cairo  and  she 
is  in  the  middle  of  the  N'ubian  desert."  But  you  do,  I  am 
sure  you  do.  And  I  hear  you  also,  I  hear  your  voice  at 
this  moment  as  clearly  as  I  hear  it  when  I  awake  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  it  rings  through  my  miserable  tent 
and  makes  me  wildly  hysterical.  So  don't  be  alarmed,  I  can 
take  care  of  myself,  I  tell  you !     My  love,  my  love,  my  love ! 

II 

Mercy!  I  don't  know  who  did  it,  or  by  whose  orders  it 
was  done,  but  last  night  Ishmael's  tent,  which  has  hitherto 
been  set  up  at  a  distance,  was  placed  mouth  to  mouth  with 
mine.  More  than  that,  the  odious  Arab  woman,  who  has 
always  afflicted  me  with  her  abominable  presence,  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  I  was  feeling  one  of  your  "  mystic  senses  " 
that  something  was  going  to  happen,  when  late,  very  late, 
the  last  of  the  fires  having  died  down  and  the  camp  being 
asleep.  T  heard  Ishmael  calling  to  me  in  a  whisper: 

"Kani!" 

I  did  not  answer — I  could  not  have  done  so  if  I  had 
tried,  for  my  heart  was  thumping  like  an  anvil. 

"  Rani !  "  he  whispered  again,  and  again  I  did  not  reply. 
I  knew  he  knew  I  was  awake,  and  after  a  moment  of  silence 
that  seemed  eternal,  he  said: 

"By  and  by,  then!  When  we  come  to  Cairo  and  my 
mission  is  at  an  end." 

O  God!  what  tears  of  anger  and  despair  I  shed  when 
he  was  gone  and  all  was  quiet.  And  now  I  ask  myself  if  I 
can  bear  this  strain  any  longer.  After  all  Tshmael  is  only  an 
Oriental,  and  perhaps,  in  spite  of  himself,  and  the  pledge 
he  gave  to  me,  the  natural  man  is  coming  to  the  top.  Then 
I  am  his  wife,  and  he  has  rights  in  me,  according  to  his 


THE    COMING    DAY  443 

own  view  and  the  laws  of  his  religion!  I  am  in  his  camp, 
too,  and  we  arc  in  the  middle  of  the  desert ! 

How  did  it  happen — that  betrothal^  Are  these  things 
ordained?  Gordon,  you  talk  about  Destiny,  but  why  don't 
you  see  that  what  took  me  to  Khartoum  was  not  really  the 
desire  to  avenge  my  father  (though  I  thought  it  was)  but 
to  revenge  myself  for  the  loss  of  yourself.  So  you — you — 
you  were  the  real  cause  of  my  hideous  error,  and  if  you 
had  loved  me  as  I  loved  you  I  could  never  have  been  put  to 
that  compulsion. 

....  Forgive  me,  dear !  I  am  feeling  wicked,  but  I  shall 
soon  get  over  it.  I  have  not  been  sleeping  well  lately,  and 
there  are  dark  rims  under  my  eyes,  and  I  am  a  fright  in  every 
w^ay.  ...  I  feel  calm  already,  so  good-night,  dearest!  We 
cannot  be  far  from  civilisation  now,  therefore  there  can 
be  no  need  to  i-un  away  from  here. 

Ill 

Hurrah!  Hurrah!  Hurrah!  We  camped  last  night  on 
the  top  of  a  stony  granite  hill,  and  this  morning  we  can 
see  the  silver  streak  of  the  Nile  with  the  sweet,  green  ver- 
dure along  its  banks,  and  the  great  dam  at  Assouan  with 
its  cascades  of  falling  water.  Such  joy!  Such  a  frenzy 
of  gladness!  The  people  are  capering  about  like  demented 
children.  Just  so  must  the  children  of  Israel  have  felt  when 
God  brought  them  out  of  the  wilderness  and  they  saw  the 
promised  land  before  them. 

Black  Zogal  galloped  into  the  town  at  daybreak  and 
has  just  galloped  back,  bringing  a  great  company  of  Sheikhs 
and  Notables.  Egyptians,  chiefly,  who  have  come  up  the 
Nile  to  meet  us,  but  many  are  Bedouins  from  the  wild  East 
country  running  to  the  Red  Sea.  Such  fine  faces  and 
stately  figures!  Most  of  them  living  in  tents,  but  all  dressed 
like  princes.  They  are  saluting  Ishmael  as  the  "  Deliverer," 
the  "  Guided  One,"  the  "  Redeemer,"  and  even  the  "  Lord 
Isa,"  and  lie  is  not  reproving  them! 

But 'I  cannot  think  of  Ishmael  now.  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
coming  out  of  chaos  and  entering  into  the  world.     If  any- 


444  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

thing  has  happened  to  you  I  shall  know  it  soon.     Shall  I  be 
able  to  control  myself?     I  shall!     I  must! 

Oh,  how  my  heart  beats  and  swells !  I  can  scarcely 
breathe.  But  you  are  alive,  1  am  sure  you  are,  and  I  shall 
iiear  from  you  presently.  I  shall  also  escape  from  this  false 
position  and  sleep  at  last,  as  the  Arabs  say,  with  both  eyes 
shut.  I  must  stop.  My  tent  has  to  be  struck.  The  camp 
is  already  in  movement. 

One  word.  We  were  plunging  into  Assouan,  through  the 
cool  bazaars  with  their  blazing  patches  of  sunlight  and  sud- 
den blots  of  shadow,  when  I  saw  your  Sheikh  sidling  up  to 
me.  He  slipped  your  letter  into  my  hand  and  is  to  come 
back  in  a  moment  for  mine.  I  am  staying  at  a  Khan.  Oh, 
God  bless  and  love  you!  El  HamdvlUUaJi !  My  dear,  my 
dear,  my  dear!  Helena. 


IX 

The  Kile   (between-  Assouan  and  Luxor). 

Oh,  my  dear,  dearest  Gordon:  Mohammed's  rapture  when 
he  received  from  the  angel  the  "  holy  Koran  "  was  a  mild 
emotion  compared  to  mine  when  I  read  your  letter.  Perhaps 
I  ought  to  be  concerned  about  the  contents  of  it,  but  I  am 
not — not  a  bit  of  me!  Having  found  out  what  the  Grand 
Cadi  is  doing,  you  will  confound  his  "  knavish  tricks." 

Never  mind,  my  dear  old  boy,  what  the  officials  are  say- 
ing. They'll  soon  see  whether  you  have  been  a  bad  English- 
man, and  in  any  case  you  cannot  compete  with  the  descen- 
dants of  all  the  creeping  things  that  came  out  of  the  Ark. 

Don't  worry  about  me,  either.  Unparalleled  as  my  posi- 
tion is,  I  am  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  myself,  for  I 
find  that  in  the  decalogue  you  delivered  to  your  devoted 
slave  on  the  day  she  saw  you  first,  there  was  one  firm  and 
plain  commandment,  "  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  love  but 
me."  I  dare  say,  being  a  woman,  I  am  faithless  to  the  first 
instinct  of  my  sex  in  telling  you  this, -but  I  have  no  time 


THE   COMING    DAY  445 

for  "  female  "  fooleries,  however  delicious,  and  be  bothered 
to  them,  anyway ! 

As  you  see,  I  did  not  run  away  from  Ishmael's  camp  on 
reaching  the  railway  terminus,  and  the  reason  was  that  you 
said  you  were  writing  to  me  again  at  Luxor.  Hence,  I  was 
compelled  to  come  on,  for  of  course  I  would  not  have  lost 
that  letter,  or  let  it  go  astray,  for  all  the  value  of  the 
British  Empire. 

I  was  delighted  with  my  day  at  Assouan,  though,  with  its 
glimpses  of  a  green,  riotous,  prodigal,  ungovernable  Xature, 
after  the  white  nakedness  of  the  wilderness,  with  its  flash- 
light peep  at  civilised  frivolities,  its  hotels  for  European 
visitors,  its  orchestras  playing  "  When  we  are  mar-ried," 
its  Egyptian  dragomans  with  companies  of  tourists  trailing 
behind  them,  its  dahabeahs  and  steam  launches,  and  above 
all  its  groups  of  English  girls,  maddeningly  pretty  and  full 
of  the  intoxication  of  life,  yet  pretending  to  be  consumed 
by  a  fever  of  self-culture,  and  devoured  by  curiosity  about 
mummies  and  tombs. 

It's  no  use — these  pink-white  faces  after  the  brown  and 
black  are  a  joy  to  behold,  and  when  I  came  upon  a  bunch 
of  them  chattering  and  laughing  like  linnets  ("Frocks  up, 
children !  "  as  they  crossed  a  puddle  made  by  the  watermen) 
I  could  hardly  help  kissing  them  all  round,  they  looked  so 
sweet  and  so  homelike. 

You  were  right  about  the  boats.  A  whole  fleet  was  wait- 
ing for  us,  which  was  a  mercy,  for  the  animals  were  utterly 
done  up  after  the  desert  journey,  and  next  morning  we 
embarked  under  the  strenuous  supervision  of  a  British  Bim- 
bashi,  who  looked  as  large  as  if  he  had  just  won  the  battle 
of  Waterloo. 

Of  course  the  people  were  following  Ishmael  like  a  swarm 
of  bees,  and,  much  to  my  discomfiture,  I  came  in  for  a 
share  of  reflected  glory  from  a  crowd  of  visitors  who  were 
evidently  wondering  whether  I  was  a  reincarnation  of  Lady 
Hester  Stanhope,  or  the  last  Circassian  slave-wife  of  the 
Ameer  of  Afghanistan.  One  horrible  young  woman  cocked 
her  camera  and  snapped  me.  American,  of  course,  a  sort 
of  half  countrywoman  of  yours,  sir,  shockingly  stylish,  good- 


446  THE   WHITE    PROPHET 

looking  and  attractive,  with  frills  and  furbelows  that  gave 
a  far  view  of  Regent  Street  and  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  and 
made  me  feel  so  dreadfully  shabby  in  my  Eastern  dress  and 
veil  that  I  wanted  to  slap  her. 

We  are  now  two  days  down  the  river,  five  hundred  to  a 
thousand  boat-loads  of  us,  our  peaked  white  sails  looking 
like  a  vast  flight  of  seagulls,  and  our  slanting  bamboo  masts 
like  an  immense  field  of  ripe  corn  swaying  in  the  wind. 
It  is  a  wonderful  sight,  this  flotilla  of  feluccas  going  slowly 
down  the  immemorial  stream,  and  when  one  thinks  of  it  in 
relation  to  its  object,  it  is  almost  magnificent — a  nation 
going  up  to  its  millennium! 

They  have  rigged  up  a  sort  of  cabin  for  me  in  the 
bow  of  one  of  the  high-prowed  boats,  with  shelter  and  shade 
included,  so  that  I  still  have  some  seclusion  in  which  to 
write  my  "  Journal,"  in  spite  of  this  pestilent  Arab  woman 
who  is  always  watching  me.  In  the  hold  outside  there  must 
be  a  hundred  men  at  least,  and  at  the  stern  there  are  a 
few  women  who  bake  durah  cakes  on  a  charcoal  stove,  mak- 
ing it  a  marvel  to  me  that  they  do  not  set  fire  to  the 
boat  a  dozen  times  a  day. 

The  wind  being  fair  and  the  river  in  full  flood — seven 
men's  height  above  the  usual  level,  and  boiling  and  bubbling 
and  tearing  down  like  a  torrent — we  sail  from  daylight  to 
dark,  but  at  night  we  are  hauled  up  and  moored  to  the  bank, 
so  that  the  people  may  go  ashore  to  sleep  if  they  are  so 
minded. 

Oh,  these  delicious  mornings !  Oh,  these  white  enchant- 
ing nights !  The  wide,  smooth,  flowing  water,  reflecting  the 
tall  palms,  the  banks,  the  boats  themselves;  in  the  morning 
a  soft  brown,  at  noon  a  cool  green,  at  sunset  a  glowing 
rose,  at  night  a  pearly  gray !  Then  the  broad  blue  sky  with 
its  blaze  of  lemon  and  yellow  and  burnished  gold  as  the  sun 
goes  down;  the  rolling  back  of  the  darkness  as  the  dawn 
appears,  and  the  sweeping  up  of  the  crimson  wings  of  day ! 
If  I  dare  only  give  myself  up  to  the  delight  of  it!  But  I 
daren't,  I  daren't,  having  something  to  do  here,  so  my 
dear  one  says,  though  what  the  deuce  and  the  dickens  it  is 
(except  to  stay  until  I  receive  that  letter)  I  cannot  conceive. 


THE    COMING    DAY  447 


II 

The  people  are  in  great  spirits  now,  all  their  moaning 
and  murmuring  being  turned  to  gladness,  and  as  we  glide 
along  they  squat  in  the  boats  and  sing.  Strangely  enough, 
in  a  country  where  religion  counts  for  so  much,  there  is 
hardly  anything  answering  to  sacred  music,  but  there  are 
war-songs  in  abundance,  full  of  references  to  the  "  filly 
foal "  and  of  invocations  to  the  God  of  Victory.  These 
songs  the  men  sing  to  something  like  three  notes,  accom- 
panied by  the  beat  of  their  tiny  drums,  and  if  the  natives, 
who  stand  on  the  banks  to  listen,  convey  the  warlike  words 
to  their  Moudirs  it  cannot  be  a  matter  for  much  surprise 
that  the  Government  thinks  an  army  is  coming  down  the 
Xile  and  that  your  father  finds  it  necessary  to  prepare  to 
"  establish  authority." 

As  for  Ishmael,  he  is  in  a  state  of  ecstasy  that  is  bor- 
dering on  frenzy.  lie  passes  from  boat  to  boat,  teaching  and 
preaching  early  and  late.  Of  course  it  is  always  the  same 
message — the  great  hope,  the  Deliverer,  the  Redeemer,  the 
Christ,  the  Kingdom  or  Empire  that  is  to  come,  but  just 
as  he  drew  his  lessons  from  the  desert  before  so  now  he 
draws  them  from  the  Nile. 

The  mighty  river,  mother  of  Egypt,  numbered  among 
the  deities  in  olden  days,  born  in  the  heights  and  flowing 
down  to  the  ocean,  rising  and  falling  and  bringing  fertility, 
suckling  the  land,  sustaining  it,  the  great  waterway  from 
Xorth  to  South,  the  highway  for  humanity — what  is  it  but 
a  symbol  of  the  golden  age  so  soon  to  begin,  when  all  men 
will  be  gathered  together  as  the  children  of  one  Mother, 
with  one  God,  one  Law,  one  Faith! 

It  becomes  more  and  more  terrifying.  I  am  sure  the 
people  are  taking  their  teaching  literally,  for  they  are  like 
children  in  their  delirious  joy;  and  when  I  think  how  surely 
their  hopes  are  doomed  to  be  crushed,  I  ask  myself  what 
is  to  happen  to  Ishmael  when  the  day  of  their  disappoint- 
ment comes.     They  will  kill  him — T  am  sure  they  will ! 

Gordon,  I  go  through  hell  at  certain  moments.  It  was 
good  of  you  to  tell  me  I  need  not  charge  myself  with  every- 


448  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

thing  that  is  happening,  but  I  am  hysterical  when  I  think 
that  although  this  hoi)e  may  be  only  a  dream,  a  vain  dream, 
and  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  creating  it,  it  is  through  me 
that  it  is  to  be  so  ruthlessly  destroyed. 

Then  there  is  that  masculine  development  in  Ishmael's 
relation  to  me,  and  the  promise  he  has  made  himself  that 
as  soon  as  his  task  is  finished  he  will  live  the  life  of  a 
man ! 

Thank  God,  we  are  close  to  Luxor  now,  and  when  I  get 
that  letter  I  shall  be  free  to  escape.  Have  you  seen  your 
father,  I  wonder?  If  so,  what  has  happened?  Oh,  my  dear 
— dear!  It  is  four  years — days  I  mean — since  I  heard  from 
you — what  an  age  in  a  time  like  this!  My  love — all,  all 
my  love!  Helena. 


X 

Cairo. 

My  dearest  Helena  :  El  Hamdullillah !  Hamid  brought 
me  the  letter  you  gave  him  at  Assouan,  and  I  nearly  fell  on 
his  neck  and  kissed  him.  He  also  told  me  you  were  look- 
ing "  stout  and  well,"  and  added,  with  an  expression  of  as- 
tonishment, that  you  were  "  the  sweetest  and  most  beau- 
tiful woman  in  the  world."  Of  course  you  are — what  the 
deuce  did  he  expect  you  to  be? 

I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  while  I  read  your  letter 
I  was  either  laughing  like  a  boy  or  crying  like  a  baby. 
What  wonder?  Helena  was  speaking  to  me!  I  could  see 
her  very  eyes,  hear  her  very  voice,  feel  her  very  hand.  No 
dream  this  time,  no  dear,  sweet,  murderous  make-believe, 
but  Helena  herself,  actually  Helena ! 

I  am  not  surprised,  dearest,  at  what  you  tell  me  of  the 
development  of  the  masculine  side  of  Ishmael's  interest  in 
you.  It  was  what  T  feared  and  foresaw,  yet  how  I  am  to 
stay  here,  now  that  I  know  it  has  come  to  pass,  heaven 
alone  can  say!  I  suppose  I  must,  or  else  everything  I  have 
come  for,  lived  for,  hoped  for,  and  fought  for  will  be  wasted 
and  thrown  away.  Thank  God,  I  have  always  hitherto 
been  able,  even  in  my  blackest  hours,  to  rely  on  your  love 


THE   COIVUNG    DAY  449 

and  courage,  and  I  shall  continue  to  do  so,  and  to  tell  my- 
self that  if  you  are  in  Ishmael's  camp  it  must  be  for  some 
good  and  useful  purpose,  although  I  know  that  in  the  dead 
waste  of  every  blessed  night  1  shall  have  some  damnable 
pricks  from  the  green-eyed  monster,  not  to  speak  of  down- 
right fear  and  honest  conscience. 

Neither  am  I  at  all  surprised  at  what  you  say  of  the 
growth  of  the  ^fahdist  element  in  and  around  Ishmael, 
though  that  is  a  pity  in  itself,  and  a  deadly  misfortune 
in  relation  to  the  Government.  Of  course  it  is  the  old 
wretched  story  over  again — the  moment  a  man  arises  who 
has  anything  of  the  divine  in  him,  an  apostle  of  the  soul 
of  humanity,  a  flame-bearer  in  a  realm  of  darkness,  the 
world  jumps  on  him,  body  and  soul,  and  he  finds  he  has 
brought  not  peace  but  a  sword.  The  Governments  of  the 
world  do  not  want  the  divine,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the 
divine  begets  divided  authority,  which  begets  divided  alle- 
giance, which  begets  riot  and  insurrection,  so  down  with 
the  divine,  hang  it,  quarter  it,  crucify  it,  which  is  precisely 
what  they  have  been  doing  with  it  for  two  thousand  years  at 
all  events. 

That,  too,  is  a  reason  why  I  cannot  carry  out  my  first 
intention  of  going  to  my  father,  and  another  is  that  I 
see  only  too  plainly  now  that  he  is  playing  for  a  coup.  Not 
that  I  believe  for  a  moment  that  like  the  authorities  under 
arbitrary  governments  (Eussian  for  example)  my  father 
would  use  provocation,  even  if  it  were  the  only  means  by 
which  peaceful  work  and  life  seemed  possible,  but  I  fear 
he  is  becoming  a  sort  of  conscientious  collaborator  of  the 
accursed  Grand  Cadi,  by  acquiescing  in  conspiracy  and  per- 
mitting it  to  go  on  until  it  has  reached  a  head,  in  order 
to  crush  it  with  one  blow. 

God  forgive  me  if  I  am  judging  my  own  father,  but  I 
cannot  help  it.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  "  drunk  with 
power,"  as  the  Arabs  say,  and  everything  points  to  the 
fact  that  the  Consul-General  counts  on  making  one  sur- 
prising and  overwhelming  effort  to  suppress  this  unrest. 
That  he  did  not  take  me  (in  my  character  of  Ishmael)  on 
my  arrival  in  Cairo  points  to  it,  and  that  he  has  invited 


450  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

me  to  the  dinner  in  honour  of  the  King's  Birthday  puts  it 
beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

How  do  I  know  that?  I'll  tell  you  how.  Do  you  re- 
member that  when  Ishmacl's  return  was  first  proposed  it  was 
suggested  that  he  should  enter  the  city  while  the  Consul- 
General  and  his  officials  were  feasting  on  the  Ghezirah,  the 
bridge  of  their  island  being  drawn  and  the  key  of  the  Pavil- 
ion being  turned  on  them?  Well,  that  was  the  scheme  of 
the  Cadi,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  having  obtained 
Ishmael's  consent  to  it,  he  straightway  revealed  it  to  my 
father. 

What  is  the  result  ?  The  Consul-General  has  invited  the 
conspirators  to  join  him  at  his  festivities,  so  that  while 
they  think  they  are  to  hold  him  prisoner  on  Ghezirah  until 
Ishmael's  followers  have  entered  Cairo,  he  will  in  fact  be 
holding  them,  the  whole  boiling  of  them,  including  myself, 
especially  myself,  thus  arresting  his  enemies  in  a  bunch 
at  the  very  moment  when  their  rebellion  is  being  put  down 
on  the  other  side  of  the  iSTile.  There  is  something  tragic 
in  the  idea  that  if  I  go  to  that  dinner  my  father  may  find 
that  there  has  been  one  gigantic  error  in  his  calculations, 
and  I  hate  the  thought  of  going,  but  if  I  go  I  go,  and  (D.  V.) 
I  shall  not  shrink. 

Good-night,  dearest!  "Where  is  she  now?"  I  ask  my- 
self for  the  nine-hundredth  time,  and  for  the  nine-hundred- 
and-first  time  I  answer,  "  Wherever  she  is  she  is  mine  and 
nobody  else's."    In-sha-allah! 


n 

Whew !  It's  comic,  and  if  I  were  not  such  a  ridiculously 
tragic  ijerson  I  should  like  to  scream  with  laughter.  The 
Ulema  are  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  about  the  invitation 
to  the  King's  dinner,  and  have  been  putting  their  turbaned 
heads  together  like  frightened  chickens  in  a  storm.  !Never 
having  been  invited  to  such  functions  before,  they  suspect 
treachery,  think  their  conspiracy  has  got  wind,  and  are  for 
excusing  themselves  on   the  ground   of  a  general  epidemic 


THE    COMING    DAY  451 

ainuiig  grandmothers,  which  will  require  them  to  be  present 
at  funerals  in  various  parts  of  the  country. 

On  the  other  hand,  Caiaphas,  who  is  giving  himself  the 
airs  of  a  hero — a  hero,  mind  you — counsels  courage,  saying 
that  if  there  is  any  suspicion  of  conspiracy  the  only  way 
to  put  it  out  of  countenance  is  to  accept  the  Consul-Gen- 
eral's invitation,  which  is  of  the  nature  of  a  command,  and 
that  this  argument  applies  especially  to  me  (that  is  to  say, 
Ishmael),  who  might  otherwise  expose  myself  to  the  in- 
ference that  I  am  not  the  wise  and  wealthy  chief  of  the 
Ababdah,  but  another  person  who  dare  not  permit  himself 
to  be  seen.  The  fox !  All  the  same  I  may  find  that  it  suits 
my  book  to  go  to  the  King's  dinner. 

ra 

The  day  of  the  festivities  is  approaching  and  already  the 
preparations  have  begun.  Placards  on  the  walls  announcing 
a  military  tattoo,  officials  flying  about  the  town,  workmen 
hanging  up  lanterns  for  the  illumination  of  the  public  gar- 
dens, and  police  bands  in  the  squares  playing  "  God  Save  " 
and  "  the  Girl  I  Left,"  and  meantime  Ishmael  with  his  vast 
following  coming  up  the  Nile,  full  of  the  great  Hope,  the 
great  Expectation! 

Talk  about  Nero  fiddling  while  Eome  burned,  that  was  an 
act  of  no  particular  callousness  compared  to  the  infectious 
merriment  of  the  European  population,  though  many  of 
them  know  nothing  about  the  tidal  wave  that  is  sweeping 
down,  the  English  press  having  been  forbidden  to  mention 
it,  and  the  one  strong  man  in  Egypt  waiting  calmly  at  the 
Agency  until  the  moment  comes  to  dam  it. 

Of  course  the  official  classes  are  aware  of  what  is  hap- 
pening, and  their  attitude  toward  the  mighty  flood  that  is 
coming  on  is  a  wonderful  example  of  our  British  pluck  and 
our  crass  stupidity.  Not  a  man  will  budge,  that  much  I  can 
say  for  my  countrymen,  who  are  ready  to  face  death  any 
day  under  a  vertical  sun,  amid  deadly  swamps  and  human 
beings  almost  as  dangerous.  But  they  will  not  see  that 
while  the  fanaticism  of   one  hallucinated   individual   (Ish- 


452  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

mael,  for  example)  may  be  a  little  thing,  the  soul  of  a  whole 
nation  is  a  big-  thing,  and  God  help  the  Government  that 
attempts  to  crush  it ! 

In  order  to  realise  the  situation  here  at  this  moment 
one  has  to  make  a  daring,  audacious,  almost  impious  com- 
parison— to  think  of  the  day  when  Christ  entered  Jeru- 
salem through  a  dense,  delirious  crowd  that  shouted  "  Ho- 
sanna  to  the  Son  of  David!"  and  (forgetting  that,  soon 
afterward,  they  deserted  him  when  his  divinity  appeared 
to  fail)  ask  oneself  what  would  have  happened  tJieii  if  the 
Roman  Consul,  prompted  by  the  chief  priests,  had  met  that 
frenzied  multitude  with  a  charge  of  Roman  steel! 

God  keep  us  from  such  consequences  in  Cairo,  but  mean- 
time, though  the  Arabic  newspapers  are  suppressed,  the 
natives  know  that  Ishmael's  host  is  coming  on,  and  the 
effect  of  the  rumour  that  has  gone  through  the  air  like  a 
breath  of  wind  seems  to  be  frantically  intoxicating.  I  con- 
fess that  the  sense  of  that  mighty  human  wave,  sweeping 
down  the  red  waters  of  the  high  Nile,  coming  on  and  on, 
as  they  think  to  the  millennium,  but  as  I  know  to  death,  sits 
on  me,  too,  like  a  nightmare.  It  has  the  effect  of  the  super- 
natural, and  I  ask  myself  what  in  the  name  of  God  I  can 
do  to  prevent  the  collision  that  will  occur  between  two  forces 
that  seem  bent  on  destroying  each  other. 

Something  I  must  do,  that  is  certain,  and  seeing  that  I 
am  now  the  only  one  who  knows  what  is  being  done  on  both 
sides,  and  that  it  is  useless  to  appeal  to  either  (my  father 
or  Ishmael),  what  I  do  must  be  done  by  me  alone.  Alone  is 
a  terrible  wx)rd,  Helena,  but  what  I  do  I  do,  and  the  devil 
take  the  consequences. 

I  expect  to  get  further  information  from  Hafiz  to-mor- 
row, so  (D.  V.)  I'll  write  my  last  letter  to  Bedrasheen, 
where,  as  I  hear,  you  are  to  encamp.  Look  out  for  it  there 
— I  see  something  I  may  want  you  to  do  for  me  with  Ish- 
mael. ^leantime,  don't  be  afraid  of  him.  Remember  that 
you  belong  to  me,  to  me  only,  and  that  I'm  thinking  of  you 
every  hour  and  minute,  and  then  nothing  can  go  seriously 
astray.    Good-bye,  my  beloved,  my  dear,  my  darling! 

GOUDON. 


THE    CO-MLNG    DAY  453 

P.  S.  Is  it  not  extraordinary,  my  dear  Helena,  that  not- 
withstanding the  torment  I  suffer  at  the  thought  of  your 
position  in  Ishmael's  camp  I  continue  to  ask  you  to  remain 
in  it  ?  But  wait,  only  wait !  Something  good  is  going  to 
happen !    I  n-sha-a  llah ! 


XI 

The  Nile   (betweex  Luxor  and  Bedrasheex). 

My  dear,  dear  Gordon:  I  saw  your  Hamid  Ibrahim  the 
moment  I  set  foot  in  Luxor,  and  the  way  he  passed  your 
letter  to  me  and  I  passed  mine  to  him  would  have  done 
credit  to  Charlie  Bates  and  the  Artful  Dodger  in  the  art 
of  passing  "  a  wipe." 

I  really  think  we  escaped  the  eyes  of  this  odious  Arab 
woman,  but  I  am  bound  to  add  that  almost  as  soon  as  I 
got  back  to  the  boat,  and  began  to  read  your  letter  and 
to  weep  tears  of  joy  over  it,  I  was  conscious  of  a  shadow 
at  the  mouth  of  my  cabin,  and  it  was  she,  the  daughter  of 
a  dog! 

Xo  matter!  Who  the  dickens  cares!  I  shall  be  gone 
from  here  before  the  woman  can  do  me  any  mischief,  and 
if  I  am  still  in  Ishmael's  camp  it  is  only  because  you  said 
you  were  sending  your  last  letter  to  Bedrasheen,  so,  you  see,. 
I  had  no  choice  but  to  come  on. 

What  you  tell  me  of  the  course  of  affairs  in  Cairo  only 
fills  me  with  hatred  of  the  Grand  Cadi  ("whom  Allah 
damn"),  and  I  find  that  I  exhaust  my  Christianity  in  find- 
ing names  that  seem  suitable  to  "  his  Serenity  " — beginning,, 
of  course,  with  the  fourth  letter  of  the  English  alphabet. 

I  see  already  what  you  are  going  to  do,  and  when  I 
think  of  it  I  feel  like  a  shocking  coward.  If  you  cannot 
work  with  the  Consul-General  I  suppose  you  will  work  with- 
out him,  perhaps  against  him,  and  a  conflict  between  you 
and  your  father  is  the  tragedy  I  always  foresaw.  It  will 
be  the  end  of  one  or  both  of  you,  and  I  am  trembling  at  the- 
bare  thought. 

Oh,  I  know  you  are  the  bravest  thing  God  ever  made, 
30 


454  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

and  at  the  same  time  the  most  unselfish,  but  I  sometimes 
■wish  to  Heaven  you  were  not — though  I  suppose  in  that 
event  you  would  fall  from  your  godlike  pedestal,  and  I 
should  not  love  you  so  much  if  I  admired  you  less. 

We  left  Luxor  immediately,  for  although  there  wei'e  still 
three  days  to  spare  before  the  day  of  the  "  festivities,"  and 
the  river  was  racing  down  fast  enough  to  carry  a  fleet  of 
war,  the  people  were  in  a  fever  to  reach  the  end  of  their 
journey,  so  Ishmael  consented  to  go  on  without  a  rest. 

I  find  the  whole  thing  more  frightening  than  ever,  now 
that  we  are  so  near  to  the  end,  for  I  suppose  it  is  certain 
that  whatever  else  happens,  this  vast  horde  of  Ishmael's 
fanatical  followers  will  never  be  allowed  to  enter  Cairo,  and 
it  will  be  impossible  to  convince  the  Consul-General  and  the 
Government  that  they  are  not  coming  as  an  armed  force. 
Then  what  will  the  people  do  ?  What  will  they  say  to  Ish- 
mael? And  if  Ishmael  suspects  treachery  what  will  he  say? 
What  will  he  say  to  mef  But  no  matter — I  shall  be  gone 
before  that  can  occur. 

It  is  now  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  yet  I  cannot  sleep,  so 
I  shall  sit  up  all  night  and  see  the  rising  of  the  South- 
ern Cross.  A  silver  slip  of  a  moon  has  just  appeared,  and 
by  its  shimmering  light  our  vast  fleet  seems  to  be  floating 
down  the  river  like  ships  in  a  dream.  Such  calm,  such 
silence !  Phantoms  of  houses,  of  villages,  of  funereal  palms 
gliding  in  ghostly  muteness  past  us!  Sometimes  an  obe- 
lisk goes  like  a  dark  skeleton  down  the  bank — vestige  of  a 
vanished  civilisation  as  full,  perhaps,  of  delusive  faith  as 
ours.  What  is  God  doing  with  us  all,  I  wonder?  Why 
does  He.  .  .  . 


Another  thrilling  moment!  I  must  tell  you — I  cannot 
help  myself. 

You  may  have  gathered  that  since  the  scene  in  the  tent 
on  the  desert  Ishmael  has  left  me  alone,  but  last  night  he 
came  again. 

That  grim  woman  had  gone  to  her  crib  somewhere  out- 
side, and  I  was  writing  to  you  as  you  see  above,  when  sud- 


THE    COMING    DAY  455 

denly  in  the  silence,  broken  by  nothing  but  the  snores  of 
the  men  in  the  hold,  the  lapping  of  the  water  against  the 
side  of  the  boat  and  the  occasional  voice  of  the  Reis  at  the 
rudder,  I  heard  a  soft  step  which  I  have  learned  to  know. 

"  Rani ! "  said  a  voice  outside,  and  in  a  moment  the 
canvas  of  my  cabin  was  drawn  and  Ishmael  was  sitting  by 
my  side. 

There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  told  of  depths  of  ten- 
derness, not  to  speak  of  consuming  emotion,  but  at  first 
he  talked  calmly.  He  began  by  speaking  of  you.  It  seems 
he  had  had  news  of  you  at  Assouan,  that  you  were  staying 
at  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar's  house,  and  that  the  Old 
Chancellor  had  no  words  Avarm  enough  for  your  wisdom 
and  courage.  Neither  had  Ishmael,  who  said  the  whole 
Mohammedan  world  was  praising  you. 

I  really  believe  he  loves  you,  and  I  was  beginning  to  melt 
toward  him,  thinking  how  much  more  he  would  worship 
you  if  he  only  knew  what  you  had  really  done  for  him,  when 
— heigh-ho ! — he  began  to  speak  of  me  and  to  return  to  his 
old  subject.  Love  was  a  God-given  passion,  and  he  was 
looking  forward  to  the  end  of  his  work,  when  he  might 
give  himself  up  to  it.  His  vow  of  chastity  and  consecration 
would  then  be  annulled  and  he  could  live  the  life  of  a  man ! 

Very  tender,  very  delicate,  but  very  warm  and  dreadfully 
Oriental.  My  nerves  were  tingling  all  over,  and  I  was  feel- 
ing shockingly  weak  and  womanish  while  the  great  powerful 
man  sat  beside  me,  and  when  he  talked  about  children,  say- 
ing a  woman  without  them  was  like  a  tree  without  fruit, 
I  found  myself  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  in  actual 
physical  terror. 

At  last  he  rose  to  go,  and  before  I  knew  what  he  was 
doing  he  had  flung  his  arms  around  me  and  kissed  me,  and 
when  I  recovered  myself  he  was  gone. 

Then  all  the  physical  repulsion  I  spoke  of  before  arose 
in  me  again,  and  at  the  same  moment,  as  if  by  a  whirlwind 
of  emotion,  I  remembered  you,  and  my  strength  came  back. 

I  have  often  wondered  what  sort  of  horror  it  must  be  to 
the  woman  who  is  married  to  an  unfaithful  husband  or  to 
a  drunkard,  to  have  him  come  in  his  uncleanness  to  claim 


456  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

lier,    and    now    (though    Ishmael    is   neither    of    these,    but 
merely  a  man  who  has  "  rights  "  in  me)  I  think  I  know. 

No  matter!  I  am  not  afraid  of  Ishmael  any  longer,  so 
you  need  not  be  afraid  for  me.  It  is  not  for  nothing  that 
I  have  Jewish  blood  in  me,  and  if  Ishmael  attempts  to  force 
me,  as  surely  as  I  am  a  daughter  of  Zion,  I  will — well, 
never  mind !  Dreadful  ?  Perhaps  so.  Jezebel  ?  I  cannot 
help  it.  My  husband?  No,  no,  no;  and  if  destiny  has  put 
me  into  the  position  of  his  wife,  I  despise  and  intend  to 
defy  it. 

Ill 

Of  course  I  did  not  sleep  a  wink  last  night,  but  I  crept 
out  of  my  hiding-place  under  the  high  prow  of  the  boat, 
when  the  dawn  came  up  like  a  bride  robed  in  pearly  gray 
and  blushing  rosy  red.  By  that  time  we  were  nearing  Bed- 
rasheen,  and  now  we  are  moored  alongside  of  it,  and  the  peo- 
ple are  beginning  to  land,  for  it  seems  they  are  to  camp  at 
Sakkara,  in  order  to  be  in  a  position  to  see  the  light  which 
is  to  shine  from  the  minaret  of  Mohammed  Ali. 

Such  joy,  such  rapture!  Men  with  the  madra  pole  sound- 
ing the  depths  of  the  water:  men  with  sculls  pushing  the 
boats  ashore;  all  shouting  in  strident  voices,  or  singing  in 
guttural  tones ! 

Soon,  very  soon,  their  hopes  will  be  blighted.  "Will  they 
ever  know  by  whom?  I  wonder  if  anybody  will  tell  them 
about  that  letter?  Where  is  Mosie?  I  trust  the  Consul- 
General  may  keep  him  in  Cairo.  The  boy  is  as  true  as 
steel,  but  with  this  woman  to  question  him!  .  .  ,  My  God, 
make  her  meet  a  fate  as  black  as  her  heart,  the  huzzy ! 

But  why  do  I  trouble  about  this?  It  matters  nothing 
to  me  what  becomes  of  the  Arab  woman,  or  of  the  Egyp- 
tians, or  of  the  Soudanese,  or  even  of  Ishmael  himself — 
the  whole  boiling  of  them,  as  you  say.  I  know  I'm  heartless, 
but  I  can't  help  it.  The  only  question  of  any  consequence 
is  what  is  happening  to  you.  After  all,  it  was  I  who  put 
you  where  you  are,  and  it  is  quite  enough  for  me  to  reproach 
myself  with  that. 

What  is  the  Government  doing  to  you?    What  has  your 


THE    COMING    DAY  457 

father  done?     What  is  going  on  among  the  descendants  of 
the  creeping  things  that  came  out  of  the  Ark? 

•  •••••  • 

I  cannot  see  Hamid  among  the  crowd  on  the  land,  but  I 
hope  to  find  him  as  soon  as  I  go  ashore.  If  I  miss  him 
in  the  fearful  chaos  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go  on  to  the 
camp,  for,  besides  my  anxiety  to  receive  your  letter,  I  am 
living  under  the  strongest  conviction  that  there  is  some- 
thing for  me  to  do  for  you,  and  that  it  has  not  been  for 
nothing  that  I  have  gone  through  the  bog  and  slush  of  this 
semi-barbaric  life. 

There !  You  see  what  you've  done  for  me !  You've  given 
me  as  strong  a  belief  in  the  "  mystic  sense  "  as  you  have 
yourself,  and  as  firm  a  faith  in  fatality. 

•  •  •  •  • 

ISTo  sign  of  Ilamid  yet !  Xever  mind !  Don't  be  afraid 
for  me — I  am  all  rif-'ht. 

Gordon,  my  dear,  my  dear — dear,  good-bye ! 

Helena. 


XII 

For  more  than  three  weeks  the  Consul-General  had  kept 
his  own  counsel,  and  not  even  to  the  Sirdar,  whom  he  saw 
daily,  did  he  reveal  the  whole  meaning  of  his  doings. 

When  the  Sirdar  had  come  to  say  that  through  the  Sou- 
dan Intelligence  Department  in  Cairo  he  had  heard  that  Ish- 
mael  and  his  vast  company  had  left  Khartoum,  and  that 
the  Inspector-General  was  of  opinion  that  the  pilgrimage 
must  be  stopped  or  it  would  cause  trouble,  the  Consul- 
General  had  said : 

"  No !  Let  the  man  come  on.  We  shall  be  ready  to 
receive  him." 

Again,  when  the  Governor  at  Assouan,  hearing  of  the 
approach  of  the  ever-increasing  horde  of  Soudanese  had 
telegraphed  for  troops  to  keep  them  out  of  Egypt,  the  Con- 
sul-General had  replied : 

"  Leave  them  alone,  and  mind  your  own  business." 


458  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Finally,  when  the  Commandant  of  Police  at  Cairo  had 
come  with  looks  of  alarm  to  say  that  a  thousand  open  boats, 
all  packed  with  people,  were  sailing  down  the  river  like  an 
invading  army,  and  that  if  they  attempted  to  enter  the  city 
the  native  police  could  not  be  relied  upon  to  resist  them, 
the  Consul-General  had  said: 

"  Don't  be  afraid.    I  have  made  other  arrangements." 

Meantime,  the  great  man  who  seemed  to  be  so  calm  on 
the  outside  was  white  hot  within.  Every  day,  while  Ishmael 
was  in  the  Soudan,  and  every  hour  after  the  Prophet  had 
entered  Egypt,  he  had  received  telegrams  from  his  Inspec- 
tors saying  where  the  i^ilgrimage  was  and  what  was  hap- 
pening to  it.  So  great,  indeed,  had  been  the  fever  of  his 
anxiety  that  he  had  caused  a  telegraphic  tape  to  be  fixed  up 
in  his  bedroom  that  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  if  need  be, 
he  might  rise  and  read  the  long  white  slips. 

A  few  days  before  the  date  fixed  for  the  festivities,  one 
of  the  Inspectors  of  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior  came  to 
tell  him  that  there  were  whispers  of  a  conspiracy  that  had 
been  blown  upon,  with  hushed  rumours  of  some  bitter  pun- 
ishment which  the  Consul-General  was  preparing  for  those 
who  had  participated  in  it.  As  a  consequence  a  number 
of  the  Notables  and  certain  of  the  diplomats  were  rajjidly 
leaving  the  country,  nearly  every  train  containing  some  of 
them.  A  sombre  fire  shone  in  the  great  man's  eyes  while 
he  listened  to  this,  but  he  only  answered  with  a  sinister 
smile : 

"  The  air  of  Egypt  doesn't  agree  with  them  perhaps. 
Let  them  go.     They'll  be  lucky  if  they  live  to  come  back." 

As  soon  as  the  Inspector  was  gone  the  Consul-General 
sent  for  his  Secretary  and  asked  what  acceptances  had  been 
received  of  the  invitations  to  the  King's  Dinner,  w-hereupon 
the  Secretary's  face  fell  and  he  replied  that  there  had  been 
many  excuses. 

Half  the  diplomats  had  pleaded  calls  from  their  own 
countries,  and  half  the  Pashas  had  protested  with  apologetic 
prayers  that  influenza  or  funerals  in  their  families  would 
compel  them  to  decline.  The  Ministers  had  accepted,  as 
they  needs  must,  but,  with   a  few  exceptions,   the  Ulema, 


THE    COMING    DAY  459 

after  endless  invocations  to  God  and  the  Prophet,  had,  on 
various  grounds,  begged  to  be  excused. 

"And  the  exceptions — which  are  they?"  asked  the  Con- 
sul-General. 

"  The  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar,  his  guest  the  Sheikh  Omar 
Benani,  the  Grand  Mufti  and  ..." 

"  Good !  All  goes  well,"  said  the  Consul-General.  "  Make 
a  list  of  the  refusals,  and  let  me  have  it  on  the  day  of  the 
dinner." 

Before  that  day  there  was  much  to  do,  and  on  the  day 
immediately  preceding  it  the  British  Agency  received  a 
stream  of  visitors.  The  first  to  come  by  appointment  was 
the  English  Adviser  to  the  Ministry  of  Justice. 

"  I  wish  you,"  said  the  Consul-General,  "  to  summon  the 
new  Special  Tribunal  to  hold  a  court  in  Cairo  at  ten  o'clock 
to-morrow  night." 

"Ten  o'clock  to-morrow  night?  Did  your  lordship  say 
ten?  "  asked  the  Adviser. 

"  Don't  I  speak  plainly  ? "  replied  the  Consul-General, 
whereupon  the  look  of  bewilderment  on  the  Adviser's  face 
broke  up  into  an  expression  of  embarrassment  and  his  de- 
sire to  ask  further  questions  was  crushed. 

The  next  visitor  to  come  by  appointment  was  the  British 
Adviser  to  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  the  tall  young  Eng- 
lishman on  whose  red  hair  the  red  fez  sat  strangely. 

"  I  wish  you,"  said  the  Consul-General,  "  to  arrange  that 
the  gallows  be  got  out  and  set  up  after  dark  to-morrow 
night  in  the  square  in  front  of  the  Governorat." 

"The  square  in  front  of  the  Governorat?"  repeated  the 
Adviser,  in  tones  of  astonishment.  "  Does  your  lordship 
forget  that  public  execution  within  the  citv  is  no  longer 
legal ?  " 

"  Damn  it,  I'll  make  it  legal,"  replied  the  Consul-General, 
whereupon  the  red  head  under  the  red  fez  bowed  itself  out 
of  the  library  without  waiting  to  ask  who  was  to  be  hanged. 

The  next  visitor  to  come  to  the  Agency  by  appointment 
was  the  burly  Commandant   of  Police. 

"  You  still  hold  your  Avarrant  for  the  arrest  of  Ishmael 
Ameer?"  asked  the  Consul-General. 


460  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  I  do,  my  lord." 

"  Then  come  to  Ghezirah  to-morrow  night  and  be  ready 
to  receive  my  orders." 

Then  came  the  Colonel  who,  since  the  death  of  General 
Graves,  had  been  placed  in  temporary  command  of  the  Army 
of  Occupation. 

"  Is  everything  in  order  ?  " 

"  Everything,  my  lord." 

"  All  your  regiments  now  in  the  country  can  arrive  at 
Calioub  by  the  last  train  to-morrow  night  i  " 

"  All  of  them." 

"  Then  wait  there  yourself  until  you  hear  from  me. 
I  shall  speak  to  you  over  the  telephone  from  Ghezirah. 
On  receiving  my  message  you  will  cause  fifty  rounds  of 
ammunition  to  be  issued  to  your  men  and  then  march  them 
into  the  city  and  line  them  up  in  the  principal  thorough- 
fares. Let  them  stay  there  as  long  as  they  may  be  required 
to  do  so — all  night  if  necessary — and  if  there  is  unrest  or 
armed  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  populace,  of  the  native 
army,  or  of  people  coming  into  the  town,  you  will  promptly 
put  it  down.     You  understand  ?  " 

"  I  understand,  my  lord." 

"  But  wait  for  my  telephone  call.  Don't  let  one  man  stir 
out  of  barracks  until  you  receive  it.    Mind  that.    Good-bye!" 

The  better  part  of  the  day  was  now  gone,  yet  so  great 
had  been  the  Consul-General's  impatience  that  he  had  not 
even  yet  broken  his  fast,  although  Fatimah,  who  alone  would 
have  been  permitted  to  do  so,  had  repeatedly  entered  his 
room  to  remind  him  that  his  meals  were  ready. 

At  sunset  he  went  up  to  the  roof  of  his  house.  Every 
day  for  nearly  a  week  he  had  done  this,  taking  a  telescope  in 
his  hand  that  he  might  look  down  the  river  for  the  mighty 
octopus  of  demented  people  who  were  soon  to  come.  Yes- 
terday he  had  seen  them  for  the  first  time — a  vast  flotilla 
of  innumerable  native  boats,  with  white  three-cornered  sails, 
stretching  far  down  the  Nile,  as  a  flight  of  birds  of  passage 
might  stretch  along  the  sky. 

Now  the  people  were  encamped  on  the  desert  between 
Bedrasheen  and   Sakkara,  a  sinuous  line  of  speckled  white 


THE    COMING    DAY  461 

and  black  on  the  golden  yellow  of  the  sand,  looking  like  a 
great  serpent  encircling  the  city  on  the  south.  As  a  serpent 
they  fascinated  the  Consul-Gencral  when  he  looked  at  them, 
but  not  with  fear,  so  sure  was  he  that,  by  the  machinery  he 
had  set  to  work,  the  vermin  would  soon  be  trampled  into 
the  earth. 

There  they  were,  he  thought,  an  armed  force,  the  scour- 
ings  of  the  Soudan,  under  the  hypnotic  sway  of  a  fanatic- 
hypocrite,  waiting  to  fall  on  the  city  and  to  destroy  its  civil- 
isation. In  every  saddle-bag  a  rifle;  in  every  gebah  a  copy  of 
the  Koran ;  in  every  heart  a  spirit  of  hatred  and  revenge. 

Since  the  Grand  Cadi  had  told  him  of  the  conspiracy  to 
establish  an  Arab  Empire,  the  Consul-General's  mind  had 
evolved  developments  of  the  devilish  scheme.  The  practical 
heart  of  the  matter  was  Pan-Islamism,  a  combination  of 
all  the  Moslem  peoples  to  resist  the  Christian  nations. 
Therefore,  in  the  great  historical  drama  which  he  was  soon 
to  play,  he  would  be  seen  to  be  the  saviour  not  only  of 
England  and  of  Europe  and  of  civilisation,  but  even  of 
Christianity  itself! 

It  would  be  a  life  and  death  struggle,  in  which  cruel 
things  could  not  fail,  but  the  issues  were  world-great,  and 
therefore  he  would  not  shrink.  He  who  wanted  the  end 
must  not  think  too  much  about  the  means. 

Ishmael?  The  gallows  in  the  square  of  the  Governorat  I 
Why  not  ?  The  man  might  have  begun  as  a  mere  paid  emis- 
sary of  the  Khedive,  but  having  developed  the  Mahdist  mal- 
ady, a  belief  in  his  own  divinity,  he  meant  to  throw  off  his- 
allegiance  to  his  master  and  proclaim  himself  as  Caliph. 
Therefore  they  must  hang  him — hang  him  before  the  eyes, 
of  his  followers,  and  fling  his  "  divine  "  body  into  the  Nile ! 

As  the  Consul-General  stopped  down  from  the  roof  Ibra- 
him met  him  with  a  letter  from  the  Grand  Cadi  saying  he 
found  himself  suspected  by  his  own  people,  and  therefore 
begged  to  be  excused  from  attendance  at  the  King's  Din- 
ner, but  sent  this  secret  message  to  warn  his  Excellency 
that  by  the  plotting  of  his  enemies  the  Kasr  el  Nil  bridge, 
which  connected  Ghezirah  with  Cairo,  would  be  opened  im- 
mediately after  the  beginning  of  the  festival. 
31 


462  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  The  fox !  "  thought  the  Consul-General,  but  interpret- 
ing in  his  own  way  the  dim  purpose  of  the  plot — that  it  was 
intended  to  imprison  him  on  the  island,  while  Ishmael's 
followers  entered  the  citj- — he  merely  added  to  his  order 
for  his  carriage  an  order  for  his  steam-launch  as  well. 

Daylight  had  faded  by  this  time,  and  as  soon  as  dark- 
ness fell  the  Consul-General  received  a  line  of  other  visit- 
ors— strange  visitors,  such  as  the  British  Agency  had  never 
seen  before.  They  were  women,  Egyptian  women,  the  harem, 
shrouded  figures  in  black  satin  and  the  yashmak,  the  wives 
of  the  Ministers  who  had  felt  compelled  to  accept  their  in- 
vitations, but  were  in  fear  of  the  consequences  of  having 
done  so. 

Unexampled,  unparalleled  event,  never  before  known  in 
an  Eastern  country,  the  women,  disregarding  the  seclusion 
of  their  sex,  had  come  to  plead  for  their  husbands,  to  make 
tacit  admission  of  a  conspiracy,  but  to  say,  each  trembling 
woman  in  her  turn,  "  My  husband  is  not  in  it,"  and  to  im- 
plicate other  men  who  were. 

The  Consul-General  listened  with  cold,  old-fashioned 
courtesy  to  everything  they  had  to  say,  and  then  bowed 
them  out  without  many  words.  Instinctively  Ibrahim  had 
darkened  the  Agency  as  soon  as  they  began  to  come,  so 
that  veiled  they  passed  in,  veiled  they  passed  out,  and  they 
were  gone  before  anybody  else  was  aware. 

The  dinner  hour  was  now  near,  and  leaving  the  library 
with  the  intention  of  going  up  to  dress,  the  Consul-General 
came  upon  two  men  who  were  sitting  in  an  alcove  of  the 
hall.  They  were  Keuter's  reporters,  who,  for  the  past  ten 
years,  had  been  accustomed  to  come  for  official  information. 
Rising  as  the  Consul-General  approached,  they  asked  him 
if  he  had  anything  to  say. 

"  Be  here  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  night,  and  I  shall 
have  something  to  give  you,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  something 
important,  so  keep  the  wires  open  to  receive  it." 

"The  wires  to  London,  my  lord?" 

"  To  London,  Paris,  Berlin — everv-^vhere  !     Good-night !  " 

Going  upstairs  with  a  flat  and  heavy  step,  but  a  light  and 
almost   joyous  heart,   the   Consul-General   remembered   his 


THE   COMING    DAY  463 

letter  of  resignation,  and  thought  of  the  hubbub  in  Down- 
ing Street  the  day  after  to-morrow  when  news  of  the  con- 
spiracy, and  of  how  he  had  scotched  it,  fell  like  a  thunder- 
bolt on  the  "  fossils  of  Whitehall." 

In  the  conflagration  that  would  blaze  heaven  high  in 
England  it  would  be  seen  at  last  how  necessary  a  strong 
authority  in  Egypt  was,  and  then — what  then?  He  would 
be  asked  to  use  his  own  discretion,  unlimited  power  be  re- 
posed in  him,  he  would  hoist  the  Union  Jack  over  the  Cita- 
del, annex  the  countiy  to  the  British  Crown,  cast  off  all 
futile  obligations  to  the  Sultan,  and  so  end  for  ever  the 
present  ridiculous,  paradoxical,  suicidal  situation. 

While  Ibrahim  helped  him  to  dress  for  dinner,  he  was 
partly  conscious  that  the  man  was  talking  about  Mosie  and 
repeating  some  bewildering  story  which  the  black  boy  had 
been  telling  downstairs  of  Helena's  "  marriage  to  the  new 
Mahdi," 

This  turned  his  thoughts  in  another  direction,  and  for 
a  few  short  moments  the  firm  and  stern,  but  not  fundam.en- 
tally  hard  and  cruel  man,  became  aware  that  all  his  fierce 
and  savage  and  candid  ferocity  that  day  had  been  no  more 
than  the  wild  ejaculation  of  a  heart  that  was  broken  and 
trembling  because  it  was  bereaved. 

It  was  Gordon  again — always  Gordon !  Where  was  "  our 
boy"  now?  What  was  happening  to  him?  Could  it  be 
possible  that  he  was  so  far  away  that  he  would  not  hear 
of  the  weltering  downfall,  so  soon  to  come,  of  the  "  charla- 
tan mummer  "  whose  evil  influence  had  brought  his  bright 
young  life  to  ruin? 


XIII 

That  night  the  Sirdar  dined  with  the  Consul-General, 
and  as  soon  as  the  servants  had  gone  from  the  dining-room 
he  said: 

"  Xunoham,  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  Consul-General. 

"  Notwithstanding   three  weeks   of   the   closest   observa- 


464  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

tion  I  have  found  no  trace  of  insubordination  in  the  Egyp- 
tian Army,  but  nevertheless,  in  obedience  to  your  warning, 
I  have  taken  one  final  precaution.  I  have  given  orders  that 
the  ammunition  with  which  every  soldier  is  intrusted  shall 
be  taken  from  him  to-morrow  evening,  so  that  if  Ishmael 
Ameer  comes  into  Cairo  at  night  with  any  hope  of " 

"  My  dear  Mannering,"  interrupted  the  Consul-General, 
with  his  cold  smile,  "  would  it  surprise  you  to  be  told  that 
Ishmael  Ameer  is  already  in  Cairo  ?  " 

"  Already  ?    Did  you  say " 

"  That  he  has  been  here  for  three  weeks,  that  he  came 
by  the  same  train  as  yourself,  wearing  the  costume  of  a 
Bedouin  Sheikh,  and  that " 

"  But,  my  dear  Xuneham,  this  is  incredible,"  said  the 
Sirdar,  with  his  buoyant  laugh.  "  It  is  certainly  true  that 
a  Bedouin  Sheikh  travelled  in  the  same  train  with  me  from 
the  Soudan,  but  that  he  was  Ishmael  Ameer  in  disguise 
is  of  course  utterly  unbelievable." 

"  ^Yhy  so  ?  " 

"  Because  a  week  after  I  left  Khartoum  I  heard  that 
Ishmael  was  still  living  there,  and  because  every  other  day 
since  then  has  brought  us  advices  from  our  Governors  say- 
ing the  man  was  coming  across  the  desert  with  his  people." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  Consul-General,  "  in  jvidging 
of  the  East  one  must  use  Eastern  weights  and  measures. 
The  race  that  could  for  fourteen  centuries  accept  the  pre- 
posterous tradition  that  it  was  not  Jesus  Christ  who  was 
crucified  but  some  one  else  who  took  on  his  likeness  and 
died  instead  of  him,  is  quite  capable  of  accepting  for  itself 
and  imposing  upon  others  a  substitute  for  this  White 
Prophet." 

"  But  you  bewilder  me,"  said  the  Sirdar.  "  Isn't  the  man 
Ishmael  at  this  moment  lying  encamped,  with  fifty  thousand 
of  his  demented  people,  on  the  desert  outside  Cairo  ? " 

"  Xo,"  said  the  Consul-General. 

And  then  in  his  slow,  deep,  firm  voice,  grown  old  and 
husky,  he  unburdened  himself  for  the  first  time — telling  of 
Helena's  departure  for  Khartoum  on  her  errand  of  ven- 
geance;  of  her  letter  from  there  announcing  Ishmael's  in- 


THE   COlIINTx    DAY  465 

tention  of  coming  into  Cairo  in  advance  of  his  people,  in 
order  to  draw  off  the  allegiance  of  the  Egyptian  Army;  of 
Ishmael's  arrival  and  his  residence  at  the  house  of  the 
Chancellor  of  El  Azhar;  of  the  visit  of  the  Princess  Xazimah, 
and  her  report  of  the  conspiracy  of  the  diplomatic  corps, 
and  finally  of  the  Grand  Cadi's  disclosure  of  the  Khedive's 
plot  for  the  establishment  of  an  Arab  Empire. 

"  So  you  see,"  said  the  Consul-General  with  an  indulgent 
smile,  "  that  all  the  bad  concomitants  of  an  Oriental  revolu- 
tion are  present,  and  that  while  you,  my  dear  friend,  have 
been  holding  your  hand  in  the  Soudan  for  fear  of  repeating 
the  error  of  two  thousand  years  ago — troubling  yourself 
about  Pontius  Pilate  and  moral  forces  versus  physical  ones, 
and  giving  me  the  benefit  of  all  the  catchwords  of  your 
Christian  socialism  and  Western  democracy — a  conspiracy  of 
gigantic  proportions  has  been  gathering  about  us." 

The  Sirdar's  usually  ruddy  face  whitened,  and  he  listened 
with  a  dumb,  vague  wonder  while  the  Consul-General  went 
on,  with  bursts  of  bitter  humour,  to  describe  one  bj*  one 
the  means  he  had  taken  to  defeat  the  enemies  by  whom 
they  were  surrounded. 

"  So  you  see,  too,"  he  said  at  last,  lifting  unconsciously 
his  tired  voice,  "that  by  this  time  to-morrow  we  shall  have 
defeated  the  worst  conspiracy  that  has  ever  been  made  even  ia 
Egypt — meted  out  sternly  retributive  justice  to  the  authors 
of  it ;  put  an  end  to  all  forms  of  resistance,  whether  passive  or 
active,  silenced  all  chatter  about  Nationalism  and  all  prattle 
about  representative  institutions,  destroyed  the  devilish 
machinery  of  this  accursed  Pan-Islamism,  crushed  the  Khe- 
dive, and  wiped  out  his  fanatic-hypocrite  and  charlatan- 
mummer,  Ishmael  Ameer." 

The  Consul-General  had  spoken  with  such  intensity,  and 
the  Sirdar  had  listened  so  eagerly,  that  down  to  that  mo- 
ment neither  of  them  had  been  aware  that  another  person 
was  in  the  room.  It  was  Fatimah,  who  was  standing  with 
the  deathlike  rigidity  of  a  ghost  near  to  the  door,  in  the 
half-light  of  the  shaded  electric  lamps. 

The  Sirdar  saw  her  first,  and  with  a  motion  of  his  hand 
he  indicated  her  presence  to  the  Consul-General,  who,  with 


466  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

a  face  that  was  pale  and  stern,  turned  angrily  round  and 
asked  the  woman  what  she  wanted;  whereupon,  Fatimah, 
with  trembling  lips  and  a  quivering  voice,  as  if  struggling 
with  the  spirit  of  falsehood,  said  she  had  only  come  to  ask 
if  the  Sirdar  intended  to  sleep  there  that  night,  and  whether 
she  was  to  make  up  a  bed  for  him. 

"'No,  certainly  not!  Why  should  you  think  so?  Go  to 
bed  yourself,"  said  the  Consul-General,  and  with  obvious 
relief  the  woman  turned  to  go. 

"  Wait !  "  said  the  Consul-General.  "  How  long  have  you 
been  in  the  room?" 

"  Only  a  little  moment,  oh,  my  lord,"  replied  Fatimah. 

After  that  the  two  men  went  to  the  libraiy,  but  some  time 
passed  before  the  conversation  was  resumed.  The  Sirdar 
lit  a  cigar  and  puffed  in  silence,  while  the  Consul-General, 
who  did  not  smoke,  sat  in  an  arm  chair  with  his  wrinkled 
hands  clasped  before  his  breast.     At  length  the  Sirdar  said: 

"And  all  this  came  of  Helena's  letter  from  Khartoum?  " 

"  Was  suggested  by  it,"  said  the  Consul-General, 

"  You  told  me  she  was  there,  but  I  could  not  imagine 
what  she  was  doing — what  her  errand  was.  Good  heavens, 
what  a  revenge!  It  makes  one  shiver!  Carries  one  back 
to  another  age!  " 

"  A  better  age,"  said  the  Consul-General.  "  A  more  natu- 
ral and  less  hypocritical  age  at  all  events." 

"  The  age  of  an  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  per- 
haps— the  age  of  a  hot  and  consuming  God." 

"Yes,  a  God  of  wrath,  a  God  of  anger,  a  God  who  did 
something,  not  the  pale,  meek,  forgiving,  anaemic  God  of  our 
day — a  God  who  does  nothing." 

"  The  God  of  our  day  is  at  least  a  God  of  mercy,  of  pity, 
and  of  love,"  said  the  Sirdar. 

"  He  is  a  lay  figure,  my  friend,  who  pennits  wrong  with- 
out revenging  it — in  short,  no  God  at  all,  but  an  illogical, 
inconsequential,  useless  creature." 

The  Sirdar  made  no  further  resistance,  and  the  Consul- 
General  went  on  to  defend  Helena's  impulse  of  vengeance 
by  assailing  the  Christian  spirit  of  forgiveness. 

"  There  was  at  least  something  natural  and  logical  as 


THE    COMING    DAY  467 

well  as  majestic  and  magnificent  in  the  old  ideal  of  Jehovah, 
but  your  new  ideal  of  Jesus  is  contrary  to  nature  and  op- 
posed to  the  laws  of  life.  *  Love  your  enemies.'  *  Do  good 
to  them  that  hate  you.'  *  If  a  man  smite  thee  on  the  right 
cheek  turn  to  him  the  other  also.'  'Resist  not  evil!'  *  If 
any  man  take  away  thy  coat  let  him  have  thy  cloak  also ! ' 
Impossible !  Fatal !  If  this  is  Christianity  I  am  no  Chris- 
tian. When  I  am  hit  I  hit  back.  When  I  am  injured  I  de- 
mand justice.  The  only  way !  Any  other  would  lead  to  the 
triumph  of  the  worst  elements  in  humanity.  And  what  I 
do  everybody  else  does — everybody — though  the  hypocrisy 
of  the  modern  world  will  not  permit  people  to  admit  it." 

The  Consul-General  had  risen  and  was  tramping  heavily 
across  the  room. 

"  Is  there  one  man  alive  who  will  dare  to  say  that  he 
actually  orders  his  life  according  to  the  precepts  of  Christ  ? 
If  so,  he  is  either  a  liar  or  a  fool.  As  for  the  nations,  look 
at  the  facts.  Christianity  has  been  two  thousand  years  in 
the  world,  yet  here  we  are  competing  against  each  other  in 
the  building  of  war-ships,  the  imposition  of  tariffs,  the 
union  of  trades.     Why  not  ?     I  say  why  not  ?  " 

The  Consul-General  drew  up  and  waited,  but  getting  no 
answer  he  continued : 

"  Civilisation  requires  it.  I  say  requires  it.  What  holds 
the  world  together  and  preserves  peace  among  the  nations 
is  not  Christianity  but  cast-iron  and  gunpowder.  Yet  what 
vexes  me  and  stirs  my  soul  is  to  hear  people  praying  in 
their  churches  for  'peace  and  concord,'  while  all  the  time 
they  know  that  '  peace  and  concord '  is  an  impossible  ideal, 
that  Christianity  in  its  first  sense  is  dead,  and  that  Jesus 
as  a  practical  guide  to  life — as  a  practical  guide  to  life, 
mind  you — has  failed." 

Then  the  Sirdar  lifted  his  eyes  and  said: 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear  Xuneham,  I  once  heard  some- 
body else  talk  like  that,  though  from  the  opposite  standpoint 
of  sympathy,  not  contempt." 

"  Who  was  it  ?  " 

"  Your  own  son." 

"  Plumph !  " 


468  THE    "S^TIITE    PROPHET 

The  Consul-General  frowned,  and  there  was  silence  again 
for  some  moments.  When  the  conversation  was  resumed  it 
concerned  the  dangers  of  the  Arab  Empire,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  Grand  Cadi,  the  Khedive  (with  the  help  of  Ish- 
mael)   expected  to  found. 

"  What  would  it  mean?  "  said  the  Consul-General.  "  The 
utter  annihilation  of  the  unbeliever.  Does  not  the  word 
*  Ghazi '  signify  a  hero  who  slays  the  infidel  ?  Does  not 
every  Mollah,  when  he  recites  the  Khuttab  in  the  mosque, 
invoke  divine  wrath  on  the  non-Moslem  i  What  then  ?  The 
establishment  of  an  Arab  Empire  would  mean  the  revolt  of 
the  whole  Eastern  world  against  the  Western  world,  and  a 
return  to  all  the  brutality,  all  the  intolerance  of  the  farrago 
of  moribund  nonsense  known  as  the  Sacred  Law." 

The  Sirdar  made  no  reply  and  after  a  moment  the  Con- 
sul-General said: 

"  Then  think  of  the  spectacle  of  a  conquering  Moham- 
medan ai-my  in  Cairo !  If  the  Citadel  and  the  Arsenal  of  the 
capital  could  be  occupied  by  that  horde  outside,  it  would 
not  be  merely  England's  power  in  Egypt  that  would  be 
ended,  or  the  English  Empire  as  a.  world-force  that  would 
be  injured — it  would  be  Western  civilisation  itself  that 
would  in  the  end  be  destroyed.  The  Mohammedans  in 
India  would  think  that  what  their  brethren  in  Cairo  had 
done  they  might  do.  The  result  would  be  incalculable  chaos, 
unlimited  anarchy,  the  turning  back  of  the  clock  ten  cen- 
turies. 

The  Consul-General  returned  to  his  seat,  saying : 

"  No,  no,  my  friend,  a  catastrophe  so  appalling  as  that 
cannot  be  left  to  chance,  and  if  it  is  necessary  to  blow  these 
fifty  thousand  fanatics  out  of  the  mouths  of  guns  rather 
than  lay  the  fate  of  the  world  open  to  irretrievable  ruin  I 
— /  will  do  it.'' 

"  But  all  this  depends  on  the  truthfulness  of  the  Grand 
Cadi's  story — isn't  it  so  ? "  asked  the  Sirdar. 

The  Consul-General  bent  his  head. 

"  And  the  first  test  of  its  truthfulness  is  whether  or  not 
these  thousands  of  Ishmael's  followers  are  an  armed  force  ? " 

Again  the  Consul-General  bent  his  head. 


THE   COMING   DAY  469 

"  Well,"  said  the  Sirdar,  rising  and  throwing  away  his 
cigar,  "  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  that  I  see  no  reason  to  think 
they  are.  More  than  that,  I  will  not  believe  that  when  our 
boy  took  his  serious  step  he  would  have  sided  with  this 
White  Prophet  if  he  had  suspected  that  the  man's  aims  in- 
cluded an  attack  upon  England's  power  in  Egypt,  and  I 
cannot  imagine  for  a  moment  that  he  could  be  fool  enough 
not  to  know." 

Again  the  Consul-General  frowned,  but  the  Sirdar  went 
on  firmly : 

"  I  believe  he  thought  and  knew  that  Ishmael  Ameer's 
propaganda  was  purely  spiritual,  the  establishment  of  an 
era  of  universal  peace  and  brotherhood,  and  that  is  a  world- 
question  having  nothing  to  do  with  England  or  Egypt  or 
Arab  Empires,  except  so  far  as " 

But  the  Consul-General,  who  was  cut  to  the  quick  by 
the  Sirdar's  praise  of  Gordon,  could  bear  no  more. 

"  Only  old  women  of  both  sexes  look  for  an  era  of  uni- 
versal peace,"  he  said  testily. 

"  In  that  case,"  replied  the  Sirdar,  "  the  old  women  are 
among  the  greatest  of  mankind — the  Hebrew  prophets,  the 
prophets  of  Buddhism,  of  Islam,  and  of  Christianity.  And 
if  that  is  going  too  far,  then  Abraham  Lincoln  and  John 
Bright,  and,  to  come  -closer  home,  your  own  son,  as  brave 
a  man  as  ever  drew  a  sword,  a  soldier,  too,  the  finest  young 
soldier  in  the  King's  service,  one  who  might  have  risen  to 
any  height,  if  he  had  been  properly  handled,  instead  of 
being " 

But  the  old  man,  whose  nostrils  were  swelling  and  dilat- 
ing like  the  nostrils  of  a  broken-winded  horse,  leaped  to 
his  feet  and  stopped  him. 

"  Why  will  you  continue  to  talk  about  my  son  ?  "  he  cried. 
"Do  you  wish  to  torture  me?  He  allowed  himself  to  be- 
come a  tool  in  the  hands  of  my  enemies,  yet  you  are  accus- 
ing me  of  destroying  his  career  and  driving  him  away.  You 
are — you  know  you  are !  " 

"  Ah,  well !  God  grant  everything  may  go  right  to-mor- 
row," said  the  Sirdar  after  a  while,  and  with  that  he  rose 
to  go. 


470  THE    \\'HITE    PROPHET 

It  was  now  very  late,  and  when  Ibrahim  in  the  hall,  with 
two  sleepy  eyes,  hardly  able  to  keep  himself  from  yawning, 
opened  the  outer  door,  the  horses  of  the  Sirdar's  carriage, 
which  had  been  waiting  for  nearly  an  hour,  were  heard 
stamping  impatiently  on  the  gravel  of  the  drive. 

At  the  last  moment  the  old  man  relented. 

"  Reg,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  trembled,  "  forgive  me  if 
I  have  been  rude  to  you.  I  have  been  hard  hit  and  I  must 
make  a  fight.  I  need  not  explain.  Good-night ! "  And  he 
had  gone  back  to  the  library  before  the  Sirdar  could 
reply. 

But  after  a  while  the  unconquerable  spirit  and  force  of 
the  man  enabled  him  to  regain  his  composure,  and  before 
going  to  bed  he  went  up  on  to  the  roof  to  take  a  last  look 
at  the  enemy  he  was  about  to  destroy.  There  it  lay  in  the 
distance,  more  than  ever  like  a  great  serpent  encircling  the 
city  on  the  south,  for  there  was  no  moon,  the  night  was 
very  dark,  and  the  dying  fires -of  the  sinuous  camp  at  Sak- 
kara  made  patches  of  white  and  black  like  the  markings  of  a 
mighty  cobra. 

Fatiraah  was  at  his  bedroom  door,  waiting  to  bring  his 
hot  water  and  to  ask  if  he  wanted  anything  else. 

"Yes,  I  want  you  to  go  to  bed,"  he  replied,  but  the 
Egyptian  woman,  still  dallying  about  the  room  and  speak- 
ing with  difiiculty,  wished  to  know  if  it  was  true,  as  the 
black  boy  had  said,  that  Miss  Helena  was  in  Khartoum  and 
that  she  had  betrothed  herself  to  the  White  Prophet. 

"  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care — go  to  bed,"  said  the 
Consul-General. 

"  Poor  Gordon !  My  poor  boy  !  Wah  I  Wah  I  Everything 
goes  wrong  with  him.  Yet  he  hadn't  an  evil  thought  in  his 
heart." 

"Go  to  bed,  I  tell  you!" 

It  was  even  longer  than  usual  before  the  Consul-General 
slept. 

He  thought  of  Helena.  Where  was  she  now?  He  had 
been  telling  himself  all  along  that  to  save  appearances  she 
might  find  it  necessary  to  remain  for  a  while  in  Ishmael's 
camp,    but    surely   she   might   have    escaped   by   this    time. 


THE    COMING    DAY  471 

Could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  kept  as  a  prisoner?  "Was 
there  anything  he  ought  to  do  for  her? 

Then  he  thought  of  the  speech  he  was  to  make  in  pro- 
posing the  King's  health  to-morrow,  and  framed  some  of  the 
stinging  ironical  sentences  with  which  he  meant  to  lash  his 
enemies  to  the  bone. 

Last  of  all  he  thought  of  Gordon,  as  he  always  did  when 
he  was  dropping  off  to  sleep,  and  the  only  regret  that 
mingled  with  his  tingling  sense  of  imminent  triumph  was 
that  his  son  could  not  be  present  at  the  King's  Dinner  to 
see — what  he  would  see! 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  have  him  there  to-morrow  night — what 
I  would  give  for  it !  "  he  thought. 

At  length  the  Consul-General  slept  and  his  big  desolate 
house  was  silent.  If  any  human  eye  could  have  looked  upon 
him  as  he  lay  on  his  bed  that  night,  the  old  man  with  his 
lips  sternly  set,  breathing  fitfully,  only  the  tired  body  over- 
come, the  troubled  brain  still  working,  it  would  have  been 
a  pitiful  thing  to  think  that  he  who  was  the  virtual  master 
of  millions  appeared  to  be  himself  the  sport  of  those  in- 
scrutable demons  of  destiny  which  seem  to  toss  us  about 
like  toys. 

His  power,  his  pride,  his  life-success — what  had  he  gained 
by  them?  His  wife  dead,  his  son  in  revolt  against  him — 
alone,  enfeebled,  duped,  and  self-deluded. 

God,  what  a  little  thing  is  man !  He  who  for  forty  years 
had  guided  the  ship  of  State,  before  whose  word  Ministers 
and  even  Khedives  had  trembled,  could  not  see  into  the  dark 
glass  of  the  first  few  hours  before  him. 

Peace  to  him — until  to-morrow! 


XIV 

Serai  Fum  El  Khalig,  Cairo. 
My  dearest  Helena:  I  am  going  to  that  dinner!     Yes, 
as    Ishmael    Ameer   in    the    disguise    of   the    Sheikh    Omar 
Benani,  chief  of  the  Ababdah,  I  am  to  be  one  of  my  father's 
guests. 


472  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

This  is  the  morning  of  the  day  of  the  festivities,  and 
from  Ilafiz,  by  the  instrumentality  of  one  who  would  live 
or  die  or  give  her  immortal  soul  for  me,  I  have  at  length 
learned  all  the  facts  of  my  father's  coup. 

Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  incident  of  the  OiDera  House? 
Well,  this  incident  is  to  be  a  replica  of  that,  though  the 
parts  to  be  played  in  the  drama  are  in  danger  of  being 
differently  cast. 

As  this  is  the  last  letter  I  shall  be  able  to  send  to  you 
before  an  event  which  may  decide  one  way  or  another  the 
fate  of  England  in  Egypt,  my  father's  fate,  IshmaeFs,  and 
perhaps  yours  and  mine,  I  must  tell  you  as  much  as  I  dare 
commit  to  paper. 

The  British  Army,  as  I  foresaw  from  the  first,  is  being 
brought  back  to  Cairo.  It  is  to  come  in  to-night  as  quietly 
as  possible  by  the  last  trains  arriving  at  Calioub.  The  Con- 
sul-General  is  to  go  to  Ghezirah  as  if  nothing  were  about  to 
happen,  but  at  the  last  moment  when  his  enemies  have  been 
gathered  under  one  roof — Ministers,  Diplomats,  Notables, 
Ulema — when  the  operation  of  their  plot  has  begun,  and 
the  bridge  is  drawn,  and  the  island  is  isolated,  and  Ishmael 
and  his  vast  following  are  making  ready  to  enter  the  city, 
my  father  is  to  speak  over  the  telephone  to  the  officer  com- 
manding at  Abbassiah,  and  then  the  soldiers,  with  fifty 
rounds  of  ammunition,  are  to  march  into  Cairo  and  line  up 
in  the  streets. 

Such  is  my  father's  coup,  and  to  make  sure  of  the  com- 
plete success  of  it — that  Ishmael's  following  is  on  the  move, 
and  that  no  conspirator  (myself  above  all)  escapes — he  has 
given  orders  to  the  Colonel  not  to  stir  one  man  out  of  the 
barracks  until  he  receives  his  signal.  Well,  my  work  to-night 
is  to  see  that  he  never  receives  it. 

Already  you  will  guess  what  I  am  going  to  do.  I  must 
go  to  the  dinner  in  order  to  do  it,  for  both  the  central  office 
of  the  telephone  and  the  office  of  the  telegraph  are  now  imder 
the  roofs  of  the  Ghezirah  Palace  and  Pavilion. 

I  hate  to  do  the  damnable  thing,  but  it  must  be  done. 
It  must,  it  must!     There  is  no  help  for  it. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  hard  it  is  to  me  to  be  engaged  in 


THE    COxMlNG    DAY  473 

a  secret  means  to  frustrate  my  father's  plans — it  is  like 
fighting  one's  own  tiesh  and  blood,  and  is  not  fair  war- 
fare. Neither  can  I  say  what  a  struggle  it  has  been  to  me, 
as  an  English  soldier,  to  make  up  my  mind  to  intercept  an 
order  of  the  British  Army — it  is  like  playing  traitor,  and  I 
can  scarcely  bear  to  think  of  it. 

But  all  the  same  I  know  it  is  necessary,  I  also  know  God 
knows  it  is  necessary,  and  when  I  think  of  that  my  heart 
beats  wildly. 

It  is  necessary  to  prevent  the  massacre  which  I  know 
(and  my  father  docs  not)  would  inevitably  ensue;  necessary 
to  save  my  father  himself  from  the  execration  of  the  civilised 
world;  necessary  to  save  Ishmael  from  the  tragic  conse- 
quences of  his  determined  fanaticism;  necessary  to  save 
England  from  the  possible  loss  of  her  Mohammedan  domin- 
ions, from  being  faithless  to  her  duty  as  a  Christian  nation, 
and  from  the  divine  judgment  which  will  overtake  her  if 
she  wantonly  destroys  her  great  fame  as  the  one  Western 
power  that  seems  designed  by  Providence  to  rule  and  to  guide 
the  Eastern  peoples;  and  necessary,  above  all,  to  save  the 
-white  man  and  the  black  man  from  a  legacy  of  hatred  that 
would  divide  them  for  another  hundred  years,  and  put  back 
the  union  of  races  and  of  faiths  for  countless  centuries. 

If  I  am  not  a  vain  fool  this  is  what  I  (D.  V.)  have  got 
to  do,  so  why  in  the  name  of  God  need  I  trouble  myself 
about  the  means  by  which  I  do  it?  And  if  I  am  the  only 
man  who  can,  I  must,  or  I  shall  be  a  coward  skulking  out 
of  his  plain  responsibility,  and  a  traitor  not  only  to  Eng- 
land but  to  humanity  itself. 

God  docs  not  promise  me  success,  but  I  believe  I  shall 
succeed.  Indeed  I  am  so  sure  of  success  that  I  feel  as 
if  all  the  recent  events  of  my  life  have  been  leading  up 
to  this  one.  What  I  felt  when  I  left  Cairo  for  Khartoum, 
and  again  when  I  left  Khartoum  for  Cairo — that  every- 
thing had  been  governed  by  higher  powers  which  could  not 
err — I  feel  now  more  than  ever. 

If  I  had  delivered  myself  up  to  the  authorities  after 
your  father's  death  my  life  would  have  been  wasted  and 
thrown  away.     Nay,  if  I  had  obeyed  orders  over  the  blun- 


474  THE  ^^'HITE  trophet 

der  of  El  Azhar  I  should  not  have  been  -where  I  am  now — 
between  two  high-spirited  men  who  are  blindly  making  for 
each  other's  ruin,  and  the  destruction  of  all  they  stand  for. 

This  reconciles  me  to  everything  that  has  happened,  and 
if  I  have  to  pay  the  penalty  of  playing  buffer  I  am  ready 
to  do  so.  I  have  great  trust  that  God  will  bring  me  out  all 
right,  but  if  that  is  not  His  plan,  then  so  be  it.  I  am  will- 
ing to  give  my  life  for  England,  whatever  name  she  may 
know  me  by  when  she  comes  to  see  what  I  have  done,  and 
I  am  willing  to  die  for  these  poor  Egyptians,  because  I  was 
born  and  brought  up  among  them,  and  I  cannot  helj)  loving 
them. 

Death  has  no  terrors  for  me  anyway.  I  think  the  expe- 
riences of  the  past  months  have  taught  me  all  that  death 
has  to  teach.  In  fact,  I  feel  at  this  moment  exactly  as  I 
have  felt  at  the  last  charge  in  battle,  when,  fighting  against 
frightful  odds,  it  has  not  been  a  case  of  every  man  for 
himself,  but  of  God  for  us  all. 

Besides,  I  feel  that  on  the  day  of  your  father's  death  I 
died  to  myself — to  my  selfish  hopes  of  life,  I  mean — and 
if  God  intends  to  crush  me  in  order  that  I  may  save  my 
country,  and  these  people  whom  I  love  and  who  love  me,  I 
really  wish  and  long  for  Him  to  do  so. 

But  In-sha-allah!  It  will  be  as  God  pleases,  and  I  believe 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  He  is  working  out  His 
wonderful  embroidery  of  events  to  a  triumphant  issue.  So 
don't  be  afraid,  my  dear  Helena,  whatever  occurs  to-night. 
I  may  be  taken,  but  (D.  V.)  I  shall  not  be  taken  in  disgrace. 
In  any  case  I  feel  that  my  hour  has  come — the  great  hour 
that  I  have  been  waiting  for  so  long. 

This  may  be  the  last  letter  I  shall  write  to  you,  so  I 
am  sending  it  by  Hosie,  lest  Ilamid  should  find  a  difficulty 
in  getting  into  your  camp.  I  hope  to  God  you  may  get  it, 
for  I  want  you  to  know  that  my  last  thoughts  are  about 
yourself. 

Upon  my  soul,  dear,  I  believe  the  end  will  be  all  right, 
but  if  it  is  to  be  otherwise,  and  we  are  to  be  separated,  and 
our  lives  in  this  world  are  to  be  wasted,  remember  that  deep 
love  bridges  death. 


THE    COMING    DAY  475 

Remember,  too,  what  you  said  to  me  at  Khartoum.  "  I 
am  a  soldier's  daughter,"  you  said,  "  and  in  my  heart  I  am  a 
soldier's  wife  as  well,  and  I  shouldn't  be  worthy  to  be  either 
if  I  didn't  tell  you  to  do  your  duty,  whatever  the  conse- 
quences to  me." 

Good-bye,  my  dear,  my  dear!  If  anything  happens  you 
will  know  what  to  do.  I  trust  you  without  fear.  I  have 
always  trusted  you.  I  can  say  it  now,  at  this  last  moment 
— never,  dearest,  never  for  one  instant  has  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt  of  you  entered  into  my  heart.  My  brave  girl,  my 
love,  my  life,  my  Helena ! 

May  the  great  God  of  Heaven  bless  and  protect  you ! 

Gordon. 

P.  S.  Oh,  how  the  deuce  did  I  forget  ?  There  is  some- 
thing for  you  to  do — something  important — and  I  had  al- 
most sent  off  my  letter  without  saying  anything  about  it. 

Do  you  remember  that  on  the  day  I  left  Ivhartoum  it 
was  ordered  by  Ishmael  that  after  the  call  of  the  muezzin  to 
midnight  prayers,  a  light  was  to  be  set  up  in  the  minaret 
of  the  mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali  as  a  sign  that  he  might 
enter  the  city  in  peace? 

Well,  if  I  fail  and  the  British  Army  comes  into  Cairo, 
Ishmael  must  be  kept  out  of  it.  He  may  be  stubborn — a 
man  who  thinks  God  guides  and  protects  him  and  makes  a 
special  dispensation  for  him  is  not  easy  to  dissuade — but  if 
the  light  does  not  appear  he  must  be  restrained. 

That  is  your  work  with  Ishmael — why  you  are  with  him 
still.  I  knew  it  would  be  revealed  to  us  some  day.  Once 
more,  my  dear,  my  dear,  God  bless  and  protect  you ! 


XV 

UxDEE  THE  Pyramids. 

My  dear  Gordon  :  Your  letter  has  not  yet  reached  me. 
What  has  happened?  Has  your  messenger  been  caught? 
Who  was  it  ?    Was  it  Hamid  ? 

Not  having  heard  from  you,  I  was  of  course  compelled  to 


476  THE    \\liliE    PROPHET 

come  on  with  the  camp  and,  therefore,  I  am  with  it  still. 
We  are  under  the  shadow  of  the  Pyramids,  with  the  mud- 
built  village  of  ISakkara  by  our  side  and  Cairo  in  front  of  us, 
beyond  the  ruins  of  old  Memphis  and  across  a  stretch  of 
golden  sand. 

This  is,  it  seems,  the  day  of  "  the  King's  Dinner,"  and 
at  sunset  when  the  elephant's  horn  was  blown  for  the  last 
time  we  gathered  for  prayers  under  a  sea-blue  sky  on  the 
blood-red  side  of  the  Step  pyramid. 

It  was  a  splendid,  horrible,  inspiring,  depressing,  devilish, 
divine  spectacle.  First  Ishmael  recited  from  the  Koran  the 
chapter  about  the  Prophet's  great  vision  (the  Surat  er  Ras- 
soul,  I  think)  Avhile  the  people  on  their  knees  in  the  shadow, 
with  the  sun  slanting  over  their  heads,  shouted  their  re- 
sponses. Then  in  rapturous  tones  he  preached,  and  though 
I  was  on  the  farthest  verge  of  the  vast  crowd  I  heard  nearly 
all  he  said. 

They  had  reached  their  journey's  end  and  had  to  thank 
God  who  had  brought  them  so  far  without  the  loss  of  a 
single  life.  Soon  they  were  to  go  into  Cairo,  the  Mecca  of 
the  new  world,  but  they  were  to  enter  it  in  the  spirit  of  love, 
not  hate,  of  peace,  not  war,  doing  violence  to  none,  and 
raising  no  rebellion.  What  said  the  Holy  Koran?  "Who- 
soever among  Moslems,  Christians,  or  Jews  believe  in  God 
and  in  another  life  shall  be  rewarded." 

Therefore  let  no  man  think  they  were  come  to  turn  the 
Christians  out  of  Egypt.  They  were  there  on  a  far  higher 
errand — to  turn  the  devil  out  of  the  world!  The  intolerance 
and  bitterness  of  past  ages  had  been  the  product  of  hatred 
and  darkness.  The  grinding  poverty  and  misery  of  the  pres- 
ent age  was  the  result  of  a  false  faith  and  civilisation.  But 
they  were  come  to  bring  imiversal  peace,  universal  brother- 
hood, and  univei-sal  religion  to  all  nations  and  races  and 
creeds — one  State,  one  Faith,  one  Law,  one  God! 

Cairo  was  the  gate  to  the  East.  Tt  was  also  the  gate 
to  the  West.  He  who  held  the  keys  of  that  gate  was  master 
of  the  world.  Who,  then,  should  hold  them  but  God's  own, 
His  Guided  One,  His  Expected  One.  His  Christ? 

More  and  yet  more  of  this  kind  Ishmael  said  in  his  thril- 


THE    COMING    DAY  477 

ling,  throbbing  voice,  and  of  course  the  people  greeted  every 
sentence  with  shouts  of  joy.  And  then  finally,  pointing  to 
the  minarets  of  the  mosque  of  Mohammed  AH,  far  off  on 
the  Mokattam  hills,  he  told  them  that  at  midnight,  after  the 
call  to  prayers,  a  light  was  to  shine  there,  and  they  were 
to  take  it  for  a  sign  that  they  might  enter  Cairo  without 
injury  to  any  and  with  goodwill  toward  all. 

"Watch  for  that  light,  oh,  my  brothers!  It  will  come! 
As  surely  as  the  sun  will  rise  on  you  to-morrow  that  light 
will  shine  on  you  to-night !  " 

It  is  now  quite  dark  and  the  camp  is  in  a  delirious  state 
of  excitement.  The  scene  about  my  tent  is  simply  terrifying. 
At  one  side  there  is  an  immense  Zikr,  with  fifty  frantic 
creatures  crying  "  Allah !  "  to  a  leader,  who  in  wild,  guttural 
tones  is  reciting  the  ninety-nine  attributes  of  God.  At  the 
other  side  there  is  a  huge  fire  at  which  a  group  of  men,  hav- 
ing slaughtered  a  sheep,  are  boiling  it  in  a  cauldron,  with 
many  pungent  herbs,  that  they  may  feast  and  rejoice  together 
in  honour  of  the  coming  day.  People  are  sitting  in  circles  and 
singing  hymns  of  victory;  tambourines,  kettle-drums,  and 
one-stringed  lutes  are  being  played  everywhere,  and  strolling 
singers  are  going  about  from  fire  to  fire  making  up  songs 
that  describe  Ishmael's  good  looks,  and  good  deeds,  and 
his  "  divinity " — the  wildest  ditty  being  the  most  ap- 
plauded. 

Where  Ishmael  himself  is  I  do  not  know,  but  he  must 
indeed  be  carried  away  by  religious  ecstasy  if  he  is  not 
trembling  at  the  mere  thought  of  to-morrow  morning.  What 
is  to  happen  if  these  "  Allah-intoxicated  Arabs "  have  to 
meet  five-thousand  British  bayonets?  Or,  supposing  you 
can  obviate  that,  what  is  to  occur  when  they  are  compelled 
to  realise  that  all  their  high-built  hopes  are  in  the  dust? 
O  God!     O  God! 

II 

El  Hamdnl.liV.ah!  Your  letter  has  come  at  last!  Per- 
haps I  wish  it  hadn't  been  Mosie  who  brought  it,  but  the  boy 
was  clever  in  riding  into  the  camp  unobserved,  and  now  I 
have  sent  him  outside  to  hide  in  the  darkness  while  I  scrib- 


478  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

ble  a  few  lines  in  reply.  He  is  to  come  back  presently,  and 
meantime,  please  God,  he  will  keep  out  of  the  sight  of  that 
she-cat  of  an  Arab  woman. 

You  are  doing  right,  darling — I  am  sure  you  are !  Natu- 
rally you  must  be  troubled  with  thoughts  about  England 
and  your  father,  but  both  will  yet  see  what  motives  inspired 
you.  and  whatever  they  do  now  they  will  eventually  make 
amends. 

Bravo,  my  boy,  bravo !  Perhaps  we  shall  all  become 
Quakers  some  day,  but  let  the  peace  people  croak  as  they 
please,  it  is  war  that  brings  out  the  truly  heroic  virtues,  and 
though  you  are  trying  to  prevent  bloodshed  you  are  really 
going  into  battle.     Go,  then,  and  God  bless  you ! 

What  wretched  ink  this  is — it  must  have  got  mixed  with 
■water. 

Oh,  yes,  certainly !  I  will  stay  here  to  the  end,  and  if 
occasion  arises  I  will  do  what  you  desire,  though  I  have  not 
the  faintest  hope  of  succeeding.  The  fact  is  that  even  if 
I  could  persuade  Ishmael  not  to  enter  Cairo  the  people  would 
not  under  any  circumstances  be  restrained. 

To  tell  you  the  truth  I  cannot  help  feeling  sorry  for  him. 
He  really  began  with  the  highest  aims  and  the  strongest 
common-sense,  but  he  has  become  the  victim  of  his  people's 
idolatry,  and,  being  made  an  idol,  he  may  no  longer  be 
a  man. 

I  cannot  help  feeling  sorry  for  the  people  also,  for  I  sup- 
pose they  have  only  tried  in  their  blind  way  to  realise  the 
dream  of  humanity  in  all  ages,  the  dream  of  all  the  holy 
books  and  all  the  great  prophets — the  dream  of  a  mil- 
lennium. 

It  seems,  too,  as  if  God,  who  puts  beautiful  ideals  in 
people's  hearts,  always  calls  for  a  scapegoat  to  pay  the  price 
of  them.  That  is  what  you  are  to  be,  dear,  and  when  I 
think  of  what  you  are  going  to  do  to  save  these  poor  people 
I  begin  to  see  for  the  first  time  what  is  meant  by  the  sacri- 
ficial blood  of  Christ. 

I  suppose  this  is  shocking,  but  I  don't  care  a  pin  about 
that.  Every  heroic  man  who  risks  his  life  for  his  fellow- 
man  is  doing  what  Christ  did.    You  are  doing  it,  and  I  don't 


THE    COMING    DAY  479 

believe  the  good  God  will  ask  any  questions  about  ways  and 
means. 

There!  That's  something  out  of  my  eyes  splash  on  to 
the  very  point  of  my  pen.  Don't  take  it  as  a  mark  of  weak- 
ness, though,  but  as  the  sign-manual  of  Helena's  heart  tell- 
ing you  to  go  on  without  thinking  about  her. 

Forget  what  I  said  about  my  Jewish  blood  and  Jezebel 
and  all  that  nonsense.  Ishmael's  "  work  "  will  not  be  "  fin- 
ished "  until  he  enters  into  Cairo,  so  I  run  no  risk  while 
I  am  here,  you  see. 

Of  course  I  am  in  a  fever  of  impatience  to  know  what 
is  happening  on  Ghezirah  to-night,  but  you  must  not  sup- 
pose that  I  am  afraid.  In  any  case  I  shall  stay  here,  having 
no  longer  the  faintest  thought  of  running  away,  and  if  there 
is  anything  to  do  I'll  do  it. 

This  may  be  the  last  letter  I  am  to  write  to  you,  so 
good-bye,  my  Gordon,  and  God  bless  you  again!  My  dear, 
my  dear,  my  dear !  Helena. 

P.  S.  I  suppose  you  are  in  the  thick  of  it  by  this  time, 
for  I  see  that  the  illuminations  at  Ghezirah  have  already 
begun.     My  dear,  my  dear,  my  .  .  .  my  .... 


XVI 

At  eight  o'clock  that  night  the  Pavilion  of  the  Ghezirah 
Palace  was  brilliantly  lit  up  for  the  "  King's  Dinner."  A 
troop  of  British  cavalry  was  mounted  in  front  of  it  under 
the  sparkling  lights  that  swung  from  the  tall  palms  of  the 
garden,  and  a  crowd  of  eager  spectators  were  waiting  to  see 
the  arrival  of  the  guests. 

The  Consul-General  came  early,  driving  in  his  open  car- 
riage with  two  gorgeously  clad  sais  inanning  before  him. 
When  he  stepped  down  at  the  door,  in  his  cocked  hat,  laced 
coat,  and  gold-braided  trousers,  he  was  saluted  like  a  sov- 
ereign. The  band  of  a  British  regiment  under  the  trees 
played  some  bars  of  the  national  Anthem,  and  the  English 
onlookers  cheered. 


480  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

In  the  open  court  of  the  Pavilion,  which  was  walled  about 
by  Oriental  hangings,  the  Consul-General's  own  people  were 
waiting  to  receive  him.  Ilis  old  and  weakened  but  still  mas- 
sive and  even  menacing  i:)ersonality  showed  out  strongly 
against  the  shadowy  forms  of  some  of  the  Advisers  and 
Under  Secretaries  who  stood  behind  him. 

It  was  quickly  seen  that  his  manner  was  less  brusque 
and  masterful  than  usual,  but  that  his  tone  was  cynical 
and  almost  bitter.  When  his  first  Seci'etary  stepped  up  to 
him  and  whispered  that  a  Renter's  telegram,  which  had  just 
come,  announced  that  the  Khedive  had  left  Paris  for  Mar- 
seilles intending  to  take  steamer  for  Egypt,  he  was  heard 
to  say: 

"  I  don't  care  a  what  the  Khedive  does  or  what  he 

intends  to  do.     Let  him  wait  until  to-morrow." 

The  Sirdar  was  one  of  the  first  of  the  guests  to  arrive, 
and  after  saying  in  a  low  tone  that  he  had  just  taken  the 
necessary  steps  to  withdraw  the  ammunition  from  the  native 
troops,  he  whispered : 

"  The  great  thing  is  to  keep  calm — not  to  allow  yourself 
to  lose  your  temper." 

"  I  am  calm,  perfectly  calm,"  said  the  Consul-General. 

Then  the  other  guests  came  in  quick  succession :  Envoys 
Extraordinary,  Ministers-Plenipotentiary,  Chancellors  and 
Counsellors  of  Legation  and  Attaches,  wearing  all  their 
orders ;  Barons,  Counts,  and  Marquises  attired  magnificently 
in  a  prodigious  quantity  of  pad  and  tailor  work,  silk  stock- 
ings, white,  blue,  and  red  coats  with  frogs  and  fur  collars, 
stars,  ribbons,  silver  shoe-buckles,  tight  breeches,  and  every 
conceivable  kind  of  uniform  and  court  dress. 

Among  the  diplomatic  corps  came  Egyptian  Ministers 
wearing  the  tarboosh  and  many  decorations;  the  Turkish 
High  Commissioner,  a  gorgeous  and  expansive  person;  a 
Prince  of  the  Khedivial  house,  a  long  miscellaneous  line 
of  Pashas  and  Beys,  and  finally  a  few  of  the  Ulema  in  their 
turbans  and  flowing  Eastern  robes. 

The  Consul-General  received  them  all  with  smiles,  and 
it  was  said  aftein\'ard  that  never  before  had  he  seemed  to 
be  so  ceremoniously  polite. 


THE    COillNG    DAY  4S1 

There  was  a  delay  in  announcing  dinner,  and  people  were 
beginning  to  ask  who  else  was  expected,  when  the  first 
Secretary  was  seen  to  approach  the  host  and  to  say  some- 
thing which  only  he  could  hear.  A  moment  later  the  ven- 
erable Chancellor  of  El  Azhar  entered  the  hall  in  his  simple 
gray  farageeyah,  accompanied  by  a  tall,  strong,  upright  man 
in  the  ample  folds  of  a  Bedouin  Sheikh,  and  almost  immedi- 
ately afterward  the  guests  went  into  the  dining-hall. 

Dinner  was  served  by  Arab  waiters  in  white,  and  while 
the  band  in  the  gardens  outside  played  selections  from 
the  latest  French  operas,  some  of  the  European  guests  con- 
sumed a  prodigious  deal  of  fermented  liquor  and  buzzed  and 
twittered  and  fribbled  in  the  manner  of  their  kind.  The 
Egyptian  Ministers  and  Pashas  were  less  at  ease,  and  the 
Ulema  were  obviously  constrained,  but  the  Consul-General 
himself,  though  he  continued  to  smile  and  to  bow,  was  the 
most  preoccupied  person  in  the  room. 

He  passed  dish  after  dish,  eating  little  and  drinking 
nothing,  though  his  tongue  was  dry  and  his  throat  was 
parched.  From  time  to  time  he  looked  about  him  with  keen 
eyes  as  if  counting  up  the  number  of  those  among  his 
guests  who  had  conspired  against  him.  There  they  were, 
nearly  all  of  them,  his  secret  enemies,  his  unceasing  revilers, 
his  heartless  and  treacherous  foes.  But  wait !  Only  wait ! 
He  would  soon  see  their  confusion ! 

The  Sirdar,  who  sat  on  the  left  of  the  host,  seemed 
to  be  conscious  of  the  Consul-General's  impatience,  and  he 
whispered  again : 

"  The  great  thing  is  to  be  calm — perfectly  calm." 

"  I  am  calm,"  said  the  Consul-General,  but  in  a  tone  of 
anger  which  belied  his  words. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  dinner  his  Secretary  stepped  up 
to  the  back  of  his  chair  and  whispered  to  him  that  the  bridge 
had  been  opened,  and  after  that  his  impatience  increased 
visibly,  until  the  last  dish  had  been  served,  the  waiters  had 
left  the  room,  the  band  outside  had  ceased  playing,  and  the 
toast-master  had  called  silence  for  the  first  toast.  Then  in 
an  instant  all  impatience,  all  nervousness,  all  anxiety  disap- 
peared, and  the  Consul-General  rose  to  propose  "  The  King." 


482  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Never  had  any  one  heard  such  a  bitter,  ironical,  biting 
speech.  Every  word  blistered,  every  sentence  cut  to  the 
bone. 

He  began  by  telling  his  guests  how  happy  he  was  to  wel- 
come them  in  that  historic  hall  "  sacred  to  the  memory 
of  the  glories  of  Ishmael  Pasha,  whose  princely  prodigality 
brought  Egj'pt  to  bankruptcy."  Then  he  assured  them  that 
he  took  their  presence  there  that  night  as  a  cordial  recogni- 
tion of  what  Great  Britain  had  done  through  forty  hard  and 
sleepless  years  to  rescue  the  Valley  of  the  Xile  from  financial 
ruin  and  moral  corrujDtion.  j^ext,  he  reminded  them  that 
England  was  now  reaping  the  results  of  the  education  it  had 
given  the  country,  and  among  these  results  were  certain  im- 
mature efforts  to  found  Western  institutions  on  Eastern 
soil,  not  to  speak  of  secret  conspiracies  to  embarrass,  dis- 
turb, and  even  destroy  her  rule  in  Egypt  altogether. 

"  But  I  am  glad  to  realise,"  he  said  in  a  withering  tone, 
"  that  all  such  attempts  to  carry  the  country  back  from 
civilisation  to  barbarism  have  been  repelled  by  the  best  ele- 
ments in  the  community,  European  and  Egyptian  alike,  and 
especially  by  the  illustrious  leaders  by  whom  I  am  now  sur- 
rounded." 

Then  his  eyes  flashed  like  the  eyes  of  an  old  eagle,  while, 
amid  breathless  silence,  in  the  husky  voice  that  came  from 
his  drj'  throat,  turning  from  side  to  side,  he  thanked  his 
guests,  class  by  class,  for  the  help  they  had  given  to  the 
representative  of  the  King  in  putting  down  political  and 
religious  fanaticism. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  diplomatic  corps,"  he  said,  "  you  are 
satisfied  with  what  England  has  done  for  Egypt  and  you 
do  not  wish  to  see  her  rule  disturbed.  Between  you  and 
ourselves  there  are  no  animosities,  no  selfish  interests  to 
serve,  no  hostile  groupings,  no  rival  combinations.  Knowing 
that  we  are  the  joint  trustees  of  civilisation  in  a  backward 
Eastern  countr5%  nothing  could  induce  you  so  to  act  as  if 
you  wanted  Egypt  for  yourselves.  Gentlemen,  in  the  name 
of  the  King  I  thank  you !  " 

Turning  then  to  the  Egyptian  Ministers,  he  said  in  tones 
of  blistering  irony: 


THE    COMING    DAY  4S3 

"  Your  Excellencies,  it  seems  idle  to  thank  you  for  your 
loyalty  to  the  nation  by  whose  power  you  live.  You  are  far 
too  intelligent  not  to  see  that  a  man  cannot  set  fire  to  his 
house  and  yet  hope  to  preserve  it  from  being  burned  to  the 
ground,  far  too  sensible  of  your  own  interests  to  listen  to 
the  revolutionaries  who  would  tear  to  pieces  the  country 
you  govern  and  give  it  back  to  bankruptcy  and  ruin.  Gen- 
tlemen, in  the  name  of  the  King,  I  thank  you." 

Then  facing  the  Notables  he  said,  with  a  curl  of  his  firm 
lip: 

"  It  might  perhaps  be  thought  that  you,  of  all  others, 
had  least  reason  to  be  grateful  to  the  Power  that  took  the 
courhash  out  of  your  hands  and  deprived  you  of  the  advan- 
tages of  forced  labour;  but  you  do  not  want  to  regain  the 
powers  you  once  held  over  the  great  unmoving  masses  of  the 
people;  you  are  willing  to  see  all  false  ledgers  showing  un- 
just debts  burned  in  the  public  squares  with  your  whips 
and  instruments  of  the  bastinado.  Therefore,  gentlemen,  in 
the  name  of  the  King  I  thank  you." 

Finally,  looking  down  the  middle  table  to  where  the 
Chancellor  of  El  Azhar  sat  with  his  Bedouin  friend  beside 
him,  he  said : 

"  And  your  Eminences  of  the  Ulema,  I  thank  you  also. 
Your  enemies  sometimes  say  that  you  continue  to  live  in  the 
middle  ages,  but  you  are  much  too  keenly  alive  to  your  in- 
terests in  the  present  hour  not  to  realize  how  necessary  it 
is  to  you  to  be  assured  for 'the  future  against  the  possible 
recurrence  of  Mahdist  raids  and  revolutions.  You  know 
that  the  hydra-headed  monster  called  fanaticism  would  de- 
stroy you  and  your  class,  and  therefore  you  support  with 
all  the  loyalty  of  your  eager  hearts  the  Power  which  in  the 
interests  of  true  religion  would  crush  and  quell  it.  Gen- 
tlemen, in  the  name  of  the  King,  I  thank  you." 

The  effect  of  the  speech  was  paralysing.  As,  one  by  one, 
the  Consul-General  spoke  to  the  classes  represented  by  his 
guests,  there  was  not  a  response,  not  a  sound,  nothing  but 
silence  in  the  room,  with  white  faces  and  quivering  lips  on 
every  side. 

At  length  the  Consul-General  raised  his  glass  and,  in  a 


484  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

last  passage  of  withering  sarcasm,  called  on  the  company 
to  drink  to  the  great  sovereign  of  the  great  nation  which, 
with  the  cordial  sympathy  and  united  help  of  the  whole 
community,  as  represented  by  those  who  were  there  present, 
had  done  so  much  for  civilisation  and  progress  in  the  East — 
"The  King!" 

They  could  not  help  themselves — they  rose,  a  lame,  halt- 
ing, half-terrified  company,  getting  up  irregularly,  with 
trembling  hands  and  pallid  cheeks,  and  repeated  after  the 
toast-master,  in  nervous,  faltering,  broken  voices,  "  The 
King!" 

After  the  speaker  sat  down  there  was  a  subdued  murmur 
Avhich  rose  by  degrees  to  a  sort  of  muffled  growl.  The  Con- 
sul-General  heard  it,  and  his  keen  eyes  flashed  around  the 
company.  Down  to  this  moment  he  had  done  no  more  than 
he  intended  to  do,  but  now,  carried  away  by  the  excitement 
created  within  himself  by  his  own  speech,  he  wished  to 
throw  off  all  disguise  and  fling  out  at  everybody. 

"  Better  be  calm,  though,"  he  thought,  remembering  the 
Sirdar's  advice,  and  at  the  next  moment  the  Sirdar  himself, 
whom  he  had  missed  from  his  side,  returned  and  said,  in  a 
whisper : 

"  Afraid  I  must  go.  Just  heard  that  some  of  the  Egj'p- 
tian  soldiers  have  been  knocking  down  the  officers  who  were 
sent  to  remove  their  ammunition." 

At  that  news,  which  appeared  to  confirm  predictions,  and 
to  be  the  beginning  of  everything  he  had  been  led  to  expect, 
the  Consul-General  lost  all  control  of  himself. 

"Wait!  Wait  a  little  and  we'll  go  together,"  he  whis- 
pered back,  and  then,  calling  for  silence,  he  rose  to  his  feet 
again  and  faced  full  upon  his  guests. 

"  Your  Highnesses,  your  Eminences,  your  Excellencies, 
and  Gentlemen,"  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I  have  one  more 
toast.  I  have  given  you  the  health  of  the  King,  and  now 
I  give  you  '  Confusion  to  his  Enemies.'  " 

If  a  bomb  had  fallen  in  the  dining-hall  it  could  scarcely 
have  made  more  commotion.  The  Consul-General  saw  this 
and  smiled. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  I  say  his  enemies,  and  when  I  speak 


THE    COMING    DAY  485 

of  the  King's  enemies  I  refer  to  his  enemies  in  Egypt,  his 
enemies  in  this  room." 

The  sensation  produced  by  these  words  was  compounded 
of  many  emotions.  To  such  of  the  guests  as  were  entirely 
innocent  of  conspiracy  it  seemed  phiinly  evident  that  a  kind 
of  mental  vertigo  had  seized  the  Consul-General.  One  of 
them  looked  round  for  a  doctor,  another  rose  from  his  seat 
with  the  intention  of  stepping  up  to  the  speaker,  while  a 
third  took  out  his  gold  pencil-case  and  began  to  scribble 
a  note  to  the  Sirdar,  asking  him,  as  the  best  friend 
of  their  host,  to  remove  the  Consul-General  from  the 
room. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  persons  who  were  actually  par- 
ticipating in  conspiracy,  had,  by  operation  of  that  inscru- 
table instinct  which  compels  guilty  men  to  expose  them- 
selves, risen  to  their  feet,  and  were  loudly  shouting  their 
protests. 

"Untrue!"  "Disgraceful!"  "False!"  "Utterly 
false!" 

"False,  is  it?"  said  the  Consul-General.  "We  shall 
see." 

Then  glancing  over  them  one  by  one  as  they  stood  about 
him,  his  eye  fixed  itself  first  upon  a  foreign  representative 
whose  breast  was  covered  with  decorations,  and  he  said: 

"  Baron,  did  you  not  say  in  the  salon  of  a  certain  Prin- 
cess that  out  of  your  secret  service  money  you  were  pro- 
viding ai-ms  for  the  Egyptian  populace  ?  " 

The  baron  gave  a  start  of  surprise,  made  some  movement 
of  the  lips  as  if  trying  to  reply,  and  sank  back  to  his  seat. 
Then  the  Consul-General  turned  to  one  of  two  Egyptian 
Ministers  who,  with  faces  as  red  as  their  tarbooshes,  were 
standing  side  by  side,  and  said : 

"  Pasha,  will  you  deny  that  a%  recently  as  yesterday  you 
sent  somebody  to  me  in  secret  to  say  that  while  you  were 
innocent  of  conspiracy  against  British  rule,  your  colleague 
who  stands  at  your  right  was  deeply  guilty  ? " 

The  Pasha  stammered  out  some  confused  words  and  col- 
lapsed. 

Then  the  Consul-General  faced  down  to  one  of  the  Ulema, 
32 


486  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

the  Grand  Mufti,  ^vho,  in  his  white  turban  and  graceful 
robes,  was  trying  his  best  to  smile,  and  said: 

"  Your  Eminence,  can  it  be  possible  that  you  were  not 
present  at  the  house  of  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar  when  a 
letter  was  sent  to  a  certain  visionaiy  mummer  then  in  the 
Soudan,  asking  him  to  return  to  Cairo  in  order  to  draw 
off  the  allegiance  of  the  Egyptian  Army?" 

The  smile  passed  in  a  flash  from  the  Grand  Mufti's  face, 
and  he,  too,  dropped  back  to  his  seat.  Then  one  by  one  the 
others  who  had  been  standing  slithered  down  to  their  places, 
as  if  each  of  them  was  in  fear  that  some  secret  he  had  whis- 
pered in  the  salon,  the  harem,  or  the  mosque  would  in  like 
manner  be  blurted  from  the  housetops. 

The  Consul-General  swept  the  whole  company  with  a 
look  of  triumph  and  said : 

"  You  see,  gentlemen,  I  know  everything  and  it  is  useless 
to  deny.  In  order  to  overthrow  the  authority  of  England 
in  Egypt  you  have  condescended  to  the  arts  of  anarchists — 
you  have  joined  together  to  provoke  rebellion  against  law 
and  order." 

All  this  time  the  Sirdar's  face  had  been  stamped  with  an 
expression  of  sadness,  and  now  he  was  seen  to  be  addressing 
the  Consul-General  in  a  few  low-toned  words,  but  his  warn- 
ing, if  such  it  was,  seemed  to  be  quite  unheeded.  With  in- 
creasing excitement  and  intense  bitterness  the  Consul-Gen- 
eral turned  hotly  upon  the  foreign  representatives  and  said : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  diplomatic  corps,  joint  trustees  with 
me  of  peace  and  civilisation  in  a  backward  country,  you 
thought  you  were  using  the  unrest  of  the  Egyptians  to  serve 
your  own  ends,  but  listen  and  I  will  tell  you  what  you  were 
really  doing." 

Then,  more  fiercely  than  ever,  his  face  aflame,  his  hoarse 
voice  breaking  into  harsh  cries,  he  disclosed  his  knowledge 
of  the  Egj'ptian  plot  as  he  understood  it  to  be — how  the 
final  aim,  the  vast  and  luminous  fact  to  which  all  Moslem 
energies  were  directed,  was  the  establishment  of  an  Arab 
Empire  which  should  have  it  for  its  first  purpose  to  resist 
the  Christian  nations;  how  this  Empire  had  originated  in 
the  mind  of  the  Khedive,  who  wished  to  put  himself  at  the 


THE   COMING    DAY  487 

head  of  it ;  and  how,  since  it  Avas  necessary  in  an  Eastern 
country  to  give  a  religious  colour  to  political  intriguing, 
Ishmael  Ameer,  the  mock  Mahdi,  the  fanatic-hypocrite,  had 
been  employed  to  intimidate  the  British  authorities  by 
bringing  up  the  scourings  of  the  Soudan  to  their  very  doors. 

This  fell  on  the  whole  company,  innocent  and  guilty,  like 
a  thunderclap. 

The  great  Proconsul,  the  strong  and  practical  intellect 
which  had  governed  the  State  so  long,  had  been  deceived 
on  the  main  issue,  had  been  fooled  and  was  fighting  a  gigan- 
tic phantom! 

"  Is  this  news  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  diplomatic  corps  ? 
Ask  your  friends,  the  Ulema !  Is  it  news  to  you,  too,  gentle- 
men of  El  Azhar?  Ask  your  Grand  Cadi!  But  that  is  not 
all.  You  have  had  no  scruples,  no  shame!  In  hitting  at 
England  you  have  not  hesitated  to  hit  at  England's  servant 
— myself.  You  have  hit  me  where  I  could  least  bear  the 
blow.  By  lies,  by  hypocrisies,  by  false  pretences  you  have 
got  hold  of  my  son,  my  only  son,  my  only  relative,  all  that 
was  left  to  me  .  .  .  the  one  in  whom  my  hopes  in  life  were 
centred  and  .  .  .  .  " 

Here  the  old  man's  voice  faltered,  and  it  was  afterward 
remembered  that  at  this  moment  the  Bedouin  Sheikh  rose  in 
obvious  agitation,  made  some  steps  foi-ward  and  then 
stopped. 

At  the  next  instant  the  Consul-General  had  recovered 
himself,  and,  with  increasing  strength  and  still  greater  feroc- 
ity, was  hurling  his  last  reproaches  upon  his  enemies. 

"  But  you  are  mistaken,  gentlemen.  I  may  be  old  but 
I  am  not  yet  helpless.  In  the  interests  not  only  of  England 
but  of  Europe  I  have  made  all  necessary  preparations  to 
defeat  your  intrigues,  and  now — now  I  am  about  to  put 
them  into  execution." 

Saying  this  he  left  his  seat  and  directed  his  steps  toward 
the  door.  Nearly  the  whole  of  the  company  rose  at  the 
same  moment,  and  all  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass,  l^o- 
body  spoke,  nobody  made  a  gesture.  In  that  room  there 
were  now  no  longer  conspirators  and  non-conspirators. 
There  were  only  silent  spectators  of  a  great  tragedy.    Every- 


4SS  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

body  felt  that  an  immense  figure  was  passing  from  the 
world's  stage,  and  none  would  have  been  more  surprised 
if  the  pyramid  of  Glieza  had  crumbled  before  their  eyes. 

On  reaching  the  door  the  Consul-General  stopped  and 
spoke  again,  but  with  something  of  his  old  courageous  calm. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  it  was  part  of  the  plan 
that  to-night  at  midnight  while  the  British  Army  were  ex- 
pected to  be  on  the  Delta  and  I  and  my  colleagues  were  to 
be  held  prisoners  here  at  Ghezirah,  the  horde  of  armed 
fanatics  now  lying  outside  on  the  desert  were  to  enter  and 
occupy  the  city.  That  was  a  foolish  scheme,  gentlemen, 
such  as  could  only  have  been  conceived  in  the  cobwebbed 
brains  of  El  Azhar.  But  whatever  it  was  I  must  ask  you 
to  abide  by  its  consequences.  In  the  interests  of  peace  and 
of  your  own  safety  you  will  remain  on  this  island  until 
to-morrow,  and  in  the  morning  you  shall  see  .  .  .  what  you 
shall  see ! " 

Then  saying  something  in  a  low  voice  to  the  Comman- 
dant of  Police,  who  was  standing  near,  he  passed  out  of  the 
dining-hall  and  the  door  was  closed  behind  him. 


XVII 

A  FEAV  minutes  afterward  the  military  band  in  the  gar- 
den was  playing  again,  red  and  white  rockets  were  shooting 
into  the  dark  sky  from  the  grounds  of  the  Khedivial  Sports 
Club,  and  the  Consul-General  was  entering  the  little  in- 
sular telephone  office  of  Ghezirah,  which  was  under  the  same 
roof  as  the  Pavilion. 

"  Call  me  up  the  colonel  commanding  at  Abbassiah  and 
ask  him  to  hold  the  line." 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

While  the  attendant  put  in  the  plugs  of  his  machine 
and  waited  for  a  reply,  the  Consul-General  walked  nervously 
to  and  fro  between  the  counter  and  the  door.  He  was  ex- 
pecting the  Commandant  of  Police  to  come  to  him  in  a 
moment  with  news  of  the  arrest  of  Ishmael  Ameer.     With- 


THE   COMING    DAY  489 

out  this  certainty  (though  he  had  never  had  an  instant's 
doubt  of  it)  he  could  not  allow  himself  to  proceed  to  the 
last  and  most  serious  extremity. 

"  Xot  got  him  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  my  lord." 

The  Consul-General  resumed  his  restless  perambulation. 
He  was  by  no  means  at  ease  about  the  unpremeditated  de- 
velopments of  the  scene  in  the  dining-hall,  but  he  had  always 
intended  to  make  sure  that  his  enemies  were  safely  housed 
on  the  island  and  thereby  cut  off  from  the  power  of  making 
further  mischief,  before  he  ordered  the  Army  into  the  city. 

"  Not  got  him  even  yet,  boy  ?  " 

"  Cannot  get  an  answer  from  the  central  in  Cairo,  my 
lord." 

"  Try  another  line.     Quick !  " 

The  Consul-General  thought  the  Commandant  was  long 
in  coming,  but  no  doubt  the  police  staff  had  removed  the 
supposed  "  Bedouin  "  to  a  private  room,  so  that  in  making 
his  arrest,  and  in  stripping  off  his  disguise  to  secure  evi- 
dence of  his  identity,  there  might  be  no  unnecessary  com- 
motion, no  vulgar  sensation. 

"  Got  him  at  last  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord.  Think  there  must  be  something  wrong 
with  the  w'ires." 

"The  wires?" 

"  They  seem  to  have  been  tampered  with." 

"  You  mean — cut  ?  " 

"  Afraid  they  are,  my  lord." 

"  Then  the  island — so  far  as  the  telephone  goes — the 
island  is  isolated  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

The  old  man's  face,  which  had  been  flushed,  became 
deadly  pale,  and  liis  stubborn  lower  lip  began  to  tremble. 

"Who  can  have  done  this?     Who?     Who?" 

The  attendant,  terrified  by  the  fierce  eye  that  looked  into 
his  face,  was  answering  with,  a  vacant  stare  and  a  shake 
of  the  head  when  the  Sirdar  entered  the  oflSce,  accom- 
panied by  the  Commandant  of  Police,  and  both  were  as  white 
as  if  they  had  seen  a  ghost. 


490  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"Well,  what  is  it  now?"  demanded  the  Consul-General ; 
^vhereupon  the  Sirdar  answered: 

"  The  Commandant's  men  have  got  him,  hut  .  .  .  ." 

"  But— what  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  Ishmael  Ameer." 

"  Not  Ishma  .  .  .  you  say  it  is  not  Ish  ..." 

The  Consul-General  stopped,  and  for  a  long  moment  he 
stared  in  silence  into  the  blanched  faces  before  him.  Then 
he  said  shai-ply,  "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

The  Commandant  dropped  his  head,  and  the  Sirdar 
seemed  unwilling  to  reply. 

"Who  is  it,  then?" 

"  It  is  ...  it  is  a  British  officer." 

"  A  British  .  .  .  you  say  a  British  ..." 

"  A  colonel." 

The  old  man's  lips  moved  as  if  he  were  repeating  the 
word  without  uttering  it. 

"  His  tunic  was  torn  where  his  decorations  had  been. 
He  looked  like  .  .  ,  like  a  man  who  might  have  been  de- 
graded." 

The  Consul-General's  face  twitched,  but  in  a  fierce,  al- 
most ferocious  voice,  he  said,  "  Speak !     Who  is  it  ?  " 

There  was  another  moment  of  silence,  which  seemed  to 
be  eternal,  and  then  the  Sirdar  replied: 

"  Xuneham,  -it  is  your  own  son." 


XVIII 

FHOM  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  MOST  HIGH,  ABDUL  ALI,  CHANCELLOR  OF 
EL  AZHAR,  TO  ISHMAEL  AMEER,  THE  MESSENGER  OF  GOD,  PRAISE 
BE   TO   HIM    THE   EXALTED    ONE. 

A  word  in  haste  to  say  that  he  who  came  here  as  your 
missionary  and  representative  has  within  the  hour  been 
arrested  by  the  officials  of  the  Government,  having,  so  far  as 
we  can  yet  learn  and  surmise,  been  most  treacherously  and 
maliciously  betrayed  into  their  hands  by  means  of  a  letter 


THE    COMING    DAY  491 

to  the  English  lord  from  one  who  stands  near  to  you  in  your 
camp. 

In  sadness  and  tears,  with  faces  bowed  to  the  earth  and 
ashes  on  our  heads,  we  send  our  sympathy  to  you  and  to 
your  stricken  followers,  entreating  you  on  our  knees,  in 
the  name  of  the  Compassionate,  not  to  attempt  to  carry  out 
your  design  of  coming  into  Cairo,  lest  further  and  more 
fearful  calamities  should  occur. 

This  by  swift  and  trusty  messenger  to  your  hands  at 
Sakkara. 

The  Slave  of  your  Virtues,  Abdul  Alt. 


FIFTH  BOOK 
THE   DAAVN 


33 


The  day  that  Ishmael  had  looked  for,  longed  for,  prayed 
for — the  day  that  was  to  see  the  fulfilment  not  only  of  his 
spiritual  hopes  but  of  his  rapturous  dream  of  bliss,  the  day 
of  his  return  to  Cairo — had  come  at  last. 

But  the  Ishmael  Ameer  who  was  returning  to  Cairo  was 
by  no  means  the  same  man  as  the  Ishmael  who  had  gone 
away.  In  a  few  short  months  he  had  become  a  totally  dif- 
ferent person.  Two  forces  had  changed  him — two  forces 
which  in  their  effect  were  one. 

By  the  operation  of  the  first  of  these  forces  he  had 
become  more  of  a  mystic;  by  the  operation  of  the  second 
he  had  become  more  of  a  man;  by  the  operation  of  both 
together  he  had  become  a  creature  who  was  controlled  by 
his  emotions  alone. 

When  he  left  Cairo  he  had  been  a  man  of  elevated  spirit 
but  of  commanding  common-sense.  He  had  looked  upon 
himself  as  one  whose  sole  work  was  to  call  men  back  to 
God  and  to  righteousness.  But  little  by  little  the  tyranny 
of  outward  events,  the  pressure  of  responsibility,  and  above 
all  the  heartfelt  and  prostrate  but  dim  and  perverted  adu- 
lation of  his  followers,  had  led  him  to  believe  that  he  was 
a  being  apart,  specially  directed  by  the  Almighty,  and  even 
permitted  to  be  his  mouthpiece. 

Insensibly  Ishmael  had  come  to  look  upon  himself  as  a 
"  Son  of  God."  When  he  first  saw  that  the  crowds  who  came 
to  him  from  East  and  West  were  beginning  to  believe  that 
he  was  the  Redeemer,  the  Deliverer,  the  Expected  One  whom 
he  foretold,  he  was  shocked  and  he  protested.  But  when  he 
perceived  that  this  belief  helped  him  to  comfort  and  con- 
sole and  direct  them  he  ceased  to  deny;  and  when  he  real- 
ised that  it  was  necessary  to  his  people's  confidence  that 

495 


496  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

they  should  think  that  he  who  guided  them  was  himself 
guided  by  God,  he  permitted  himself,  by  his  silence,  to 
acquiesce. 

From  allowing  others  to  believe  in  his  divinity  he  had 
come  to  believe  in  it  himself.  His  burning,  boundless  influ- 
ence over  his  people  had  seemed  to  his  deej)  heart  to  be 
only  intelligible  as  a  thing  given  to  him  from  Heaven,  and 
then  the  "  miracle  "  in  the  desert,  the  raising  of  the  Sheikh's 
daughter  from  the  dead,  had  swept  down  the  last  of  his 
scruples.  God  had  given  him  supernatural  powers  and  made 
him  the  mouthpiece  of  His  will. 

And  now,  at  the  end  of  his  pilgrimage,  if  he  did  not 
accept  the  idea  that  he  was  in  very  fact  the  Redeemer  who 
Avas  to  bring  in  the  golden  age,  the  Kingdom  of  God,  he 
succumbed  to  a  delusion  that  was  nearly  akin  to  it — that 
just  as  the  Lord  of  the  Christians,  being  condemned  by  the 
Roman  Governor,  had  permitted  another  to  take  His  form 
and  face  and  bodily  presence  and  to  die  on  the  cross  instead 
of  him,  so  the  Messiah,  the  Mahdi,  the  Christ  who  was  to 
come,  was  now  using  him  as  His  substitute  to  lead  and 
control  His  poor,  oppressed,  and  helpless  people  until  the 
time  came  for  Him  to  appear  in  His  own  person. 

Such  was  the  operation  of  the  force  that  had  made  Ish- 
mael  more  of  a  mystic,  and  the  force  that  had  made  him 
more  of  a  man  had  been  playing  in  the  same  way  upon  his 
heart. 

It  had  played  upon  him  through  Helena. 

When  Helena  entered  into  his  life  and  he  betrothed  him- 
self to  her,  he  honestly  believed  that  he  was  doing  no  more 
than  protect  her  good  name.  For  some  time  afterward  he 
continued  to  deceive  himself,  but  the  constant  presence  of 
a  beautiful  woman  by  his  side  produced  its  effect,  and  little 
by  little  he  came  to  know  that  his  heart  was  touched. 

As  soon  as  he  became  conscious  of  this  he  remembered 
the  vow  he  had  made  when  his  Coptic  slave  wife  died,  that 
no  other  woman  should  take  her  place,  and  he  also  reminded 
himself  of  his  mission,  his  consecration  to  the  welfare  of 
humanity.  V>u\  the  more  he  tried  to  crush  his  affection  for 
Helena,  the  more  it  grew. 


THE    DAWN  497 

He  was  like  a  boy  in  the  first  beautiful  mf)rning  light 
of  love.  The  moment  he  was  alone,  after  parting  from 
Helena  at  the  door  of  her  sleeping-raom,  he  would  kiss  the 
hand  that  had  touehed  her  hand,  and  find  a  tingling  joy  in 
stepping  afresh  over  the  places  on  which  her  feet  had  trod. 
A  glance  from  her  beaming  eyes  made  his  pulses  beat  rap- 
idly, and  when,  one  day,  he  saw  her  combing  out  her  hair, 
with  her  round  white  arm  bare  to  the  elbow,  his  breathing- 
came  quick  and  loud. 

His  passion  was  like  a  flower  which  had  sprung  up  in  the 
parched  place  of  the  desert  of  his  desolate  soul,  and  eveiy- 
thing  that  Helena  did  seemed  to  water  it.  Reading  her 
conduct  by  the  only  light  he  had,  he  thought  she  loved  him. 
Had  she  not  followed  him  f"rom  India,  breaking  from  her 
own  people  to  live  by  his  side?  Had  she  not  betrothed 
herself  to  him  without  a  thought  of  any  other  than  spiritual 
joys? 

His  pride  in  him,  too,  was  no  less  than  her  affection. 
Had  she  not  proposed  that  he  should  go  into  Cairo  in  ad- 
vance because,  that  being  the  place  of  the  greatest  danger, 
was  the  place  of  highest  honour  also?  In  her  womanly 
jealousy  for  her  husband's  rank,  had  she  not  resisted  and 
resented  the  substitution  of  another  when  it  was  decided  by 
the  sheikhs  that  "  Omar  "  should  go  instead  ?  And,  notwith- 
standing her  illness  at  Khartoum,  had  she  not  insisted  on 
following  him  across  the  desert,  and,  weak  as  she  was,  en- 
during the  pains  of  his  pilgrimage  in  order  to  continue  by 
his  side? 

Allah  bless  and  cherish  her !  Was  there  anything  in  the 
world  so  good  as  a  sweet,  unselfish,  devoted  woman  ? 

During  the  journey  Ishmael's  love  for  Helena  grew  hour 
by  hour  until  it  filled  his  whole  being,  and  made  his  wild 
heart  a  globe  of  infinite  radiance  and  hope.  Her  beauty, 
her  gifts  of  mind  as  well  as  of  body,  took  complete  posses- 
sion of  him.  Whenever  he  saw  her  everything  brightened 
up.  Whenever  he  turned  on  his  camel,  and  caught  sight  of 
her  dromedary  at  the  tail  of  the  caravan,  he  became  excited. 
Whenever  evil  things  befell  he  had  only  to  think  of  the  Rani 
and  his  troubles  died  away.    All  that  was  good  and  beautiful 


498  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

in  the  world  seemed  to  centre  in  the  litter  that  held  her  by 
day  and  in  the  tent  that  covered  her  by  night. 

Then,  in  spite  of  his  mission  and  the  burden  of  his  work, 
he  began  to  remember  that  all  this  loveliness,  all  this  sweet- 
ness, belonged  to  him.  The  Rani  was  his  wife,  and  he  could 
not  help  but  think  of  the  possibility  of  nearer  relations  be- 
tween them. 

When  this  thought  first  came  to  him  he  repelled  it  as  a 
species  of  treachery.  Had  he  not  pledged  himself  to  a 
spiritual  union?  Would  it  not  be  wrong  to  break  that 
pledge — wrong  to  the  Rani,  wrong  to  his  own  higher  nature, 
wrong  to  God? 

But  nevertheless  the  temptation  to  claim  the  rights  of 
a  husband  became  stronger  day  by  day,  and  he  struggled  to 
reconcile  his  faith  with  his  affection.  He  reminded  himself 
that  renunciation  was  no  part  of  Islam,  that  it  was  a  Chris- 
tian error,  that  "  monkery "  had  been  condemned  by  the 
Prophet,  that  it  was  contrary  to  the  clear  law  of  nature,  and 
that  as  soon  as  his  task  was  finished  it  was  his  duty  to  live 
a  human  life  with  woman  and  with  children. 

This  seemed  to  solve  the  sphinx-like  problem  of  exist- 
ence, but  when  he  tried  to  talk  of  it  to  the  Rani,  in  order 
to  break  the  ground  with  her,  his  tongue  would  not  utter 
the  words  that  were  in  his  heart,  and  something  made  him 
stop  in  confusion  and  go  away  quickly. 

Yet  his  self-denial  only  intensified  his  desire.  Keeping 
away  from  Helena  by  day,  he  was  with  her  in  his  dreams 
by  night.  One  rapturous,  incredible,  almost  impossible,  and 
even  terrible  dream  of  bliss  was  always  stirring  within 
him.  A  little  longer,  only  a  little  longer.  The  hour  in 
which  he  would  lay  down  his  task  as  leader,  as  prophet, 
would  be  the  hour  in  which  he  would  take  up  his  new  life 
as  a  man. 

That  hour  was  now  near.  He  was  outside  the  gates  of 
Cairo.  Nothing  Avould,  nothing  could,  intervene  at  this 
last  stage  to  prevent  him  from  entering  the  city,  and  once 
within  his  work  would  be  at  an  end.  Oh,  God,  how  good  it 
was  to  live! 

All  that  day  at  Sakkara  Ishmael  had  been  in  the  highest 


THE    DAWN  499 

state  of  religious  exaltation,  and  when  night  came  lie  walked 
about  the  camp  as  if  demented  both  in  heart  and  brain. 

The  camp  stretched  from  the  banks  of  the  Nile  at  Ber- 
rashcen  over  the  black  ruins  of  Memphis  to  the  broad  sands 
before  the  Step  Pyramid,  and  everywhere  the  people  sat  in 
groups  about  their  fires,  eating,  drinking,  playing  their  pipes, 
tambourines,  and  drums,  and  singing  to  tunes  that  were 
like  "wild  dance  music  their  songs  of  rejoicing. 

They  were  singing  about  himself,  his  wise  words,  his 
miracles,  his  miraculous  birth  (born  of  a  virgin),  his  good 
looks,  which  made  all  women  love  him,  and  his  divinity, 
which  would  save  him  from  death.  Ishmael  heard  this,  yet 
he  had  no  misgivings,  no  fear  of  what  the  coming  day  would 
bring  forth.  A  sort  of  spiritual  lightning  blinded  him  to 
possible  danger,  and  his  heart  swelled  with  love  for  his  peo- 
ple. God  bless  them !  God  bless  everybody  !  Bless  East  and 
West,  white  man  and  black  man,  sons  of  one  Father,  soon 
to  be  united  in  one  hope,  one  love,  one  faith ! 

Ishmael  felt  as  if  he  wanted  to  take  the  whole  world  in 
his  arms.  Above  all  he  wanted  to  take  the  Rani  in  his  arms. 
It  was  not  that  the  lower  man,  the  animal  man,  was  con- 
quering the  higher  man,  the  spiritual  man,  but  that  both 
body  and  soul  were  aflame,  that  a  sense  of  fierce  joy  filled 
his  whole  being  at  the  thought  of  entering  into  a  new  life, 
and  that  he  wished  to  find  physical  expression  for  it. 

Before  he  was  aware  of  what  he  was  doing  he  was  walk- 
ing in  the  direction  of  Helena's  tent.  Striding  along  in  the 
darkness  which  was  slashed  here  and  there  with  shafts  of 
light  from  the  camp  fires,  he  approached  the  tent  from  the 
back,  the  mouth  being  toward  the  city.  Close  behind  it  he 
stumbled  upon,  some  one  who  was  crouching  there.  It  was 
a  boy,  and  he  rose  hastily  and  hurried  away  without  speak- 
ing, being  followed  immediately  by  a  woman  who  seemed  to 
have  been  watching  him. 

Ishmael's  heart  was  beating  so  violently  by  this  time  that 
he  had  only  a  confused  impression  of  having  seen  this,  and 
at  the  next  instant,  treading  softly  on  the  silent  sand,  he 
was  in  front  of  the  tent  looking  at  Helena,  who  was  within. 

She  was  sitting  on  her  camp  bed,  her  angerib,  writing  on 


500  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

a  pad  that  rested  upon  her  hip,  by  the  light  of  a  lamp  which 
hung  from  the  pole  which  upheld  the  canvas.  Though  her 
face  was  down,  Ishmael  could  see  that  it  was  suffused  by  a 
rosy  blush,  and  when  at  one  moment  she  raised  her  head,  her 
bright  and  shining  eyes  seemed  to  him  to  be  wet  with  tears, 
but  fiill,  nevertheless,  of  joy  and  love. 

Ishmael  thought  he  knew  what  she  was  doing.  She  was 
thinking  of  him  and  writing,  as  she  loved  to  do,  the  im- 
mortal story  of  his  pilgrimage,  happy  in  the  near  approach 
of  his  great  triumph. 

Standing  in  the  darkness  to  look  at  her  he  could  hardly 
restrain  himself  any  longer.  He  wanted  to  burst  in  upon 
hor  and  to  be  alone  with  her. 

Behind  and  about  him  were  the  lights  of  the  camp  and 
its  many  sounds  of  rejoicing,  but  he  did  not  see  or  hear 
them  now.  His  heart  was  afire.  He  was  intoxicated  with 
love.  What  had  been  for  so  long  his  almost  unconquerable 
dream  of  bliss  was  about  to  be  fulfilled. 

"  Rani !  "  he  whispered  in  a  quivering  voice,  and  then, 
plunging  into  the  tent,  he  caught  her  up  in  his  anns. 


II 

Half  blind  with  tears  which  belied  her  brave  words, 
Helena  had  been  writing  the  letter  to  Gordon  which  Mosi© 
was  waiting  to  take  away.  She  had  told  him  not  to  think 
of  her,  for  she  was  quite  able  to  take  care  of  herself  what- 
ever happened.  Then  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  she 
had  smiled  as  she  told  him  to  forget  the  nonsense  she  had 
written  about  Jezebel  and  her  Jewish  blood  and  to  remember 
that  until  Ishmael's  work  was  "  finished  "  and  he  entered 
Cairo,  she  ran  no  risk  by  remaining  in  his  camp. 

She  had  got  thus  far  when  she  thought  she  heard  a  step 
on  the  sand  outside,  but  raising  her  eyes  to  look,  and  seeing 
nothing  except  the  red  and  white  stars  from  the  rockets 
that  rained  through  the  air  at  Ghezirah,  she  resumed  her 
letter,  telling  herself  as  she  did  so  that  if  the  worst  came  to 
the    worst    nnrl    matters    reached    an   unexpected    crisis   with 


THE    DAWN  501 

Ishmaol,  she  could  defeat  him  again,  as  she  had  done  before, 
by  diplomacy,  by  linesse,  and  by  woman's  wit. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  in  the  thick  of  it  by  this  time,  for  I 
see  that  the  illuminations  at  Ghezirah  have  already  begun. 
My  dear,  my  dear,  my " 

Her  last  word  was  not  yet  written  when  she  heard  lah- 
mael's  tremulous  whisper  of  the  name  he  knew  her  by,  and, 
starting  up  as  if  she  had  received  an  electric  shock,  she  saw 
the  Egyptian  coming  into  her  tent  with  the  glittering  eyes 
of  one  who  was  about  to  accomplish  some  joyous  task.  At 
the  next  moment,  before  she  knew  what  was  happening,  she 
found  herself  clasped  in  his  arms. 

"  My  life !  My  heart !  My  eyes !  My  own !  "  he  was 
saying  in  hot  and  impetuous  whispers,  and  raising  her  face 
to  his  face  he  was  kissing  her  on  the  lips. 

She  struggled  to  liberate  herself,  but  felt  like  a  helpless 
child  in  his  strong,  irresistible  grasp. 

"  Leave  me !  Let  me  go !  "  she  said  with  heat  and  anger, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  her  or  to  be  conscious  of  her 
resistance. 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am !  "  he  said.  "  Our  journey  is  at  an 
end !  Our  new  life  is  about  to  begin !  How  happy  we 
shall  be !  " 

All  the  blood  in  Helena's  body  rushed  to  her  cheeks,  and 
putting  up  her  hands  between  their  faces,  she  demanded 
angrily : 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this?    What  are  you  doing? " 

Yet  still  he  did  not  hear  her,  for  his  passion  was  over- 
powering him,  its  intoxicating  voice  was  ringing  through 
his  whole  being,  and  he  continued  to  pour  into  her  ears  a 
torrent  of  endearing  words. 

"  Yes,  yes,  our  new  life  is  about  to  begin !  It  is  to  begin 
to-night — now  !  " 

Helena  was  overwhelmed  with  fear,  but  suddenly,  by  the 
operation  of  an  instinct  which  she  did  not  comprehend,  she 
smiled  up  into  Ishmael's  smiling  face — a  feeble,  frightened, 
involuntary  smile — and  pointing  to  the  open  mouth  of  the 
tent,  she  said  with  a  sense  of  mingled  cunning  and  con- 
fusion : 


502  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Be  careful !    Look !  " 

Ishmael  loosened  his  hold  of  her  and,  stepping  back  to 
the  tent's  mouth,  he  began  to  close  and  button  it. 

While  he  did  so  Helena  watched  him  and  asked  herself 
Avhat  she  ought  to  do  next.  Cry  for  help?  It  would  be 
useless.  There  were  none  to  hear  her  except  Ishmael's  own 
people,  and  they  worshipped  him  and  looked  upon  her  as  his 
wife,  his  property,  his  slave,  his  chattel.  Escape?  Impos- 
sible! More  than  ever  impossible  for  what  (at  her  own 
direction)  he  was  doing  now. 

''Then  what  am  I  do  to?"  she  asked  herself,  and  before 
she  had  found  an  answer  Ishmael,  having  sealed  up  the 
tent,  was  returning  with  outstretched  arms,  as  if  with  the 
intention  of  embracing  and  kissing  her  again. 

She  read  in  his  great  wild  eyes  the  light  of  a  passion 
which  she  had  never  seen  in  a  man's  face  before,  but  she 
put  on  a  bold  front  in  spite  of  the  terror  which  possessed 
her,  thrust  out  her  right  hand  to  keep  him  off,  looked  him 
full  in  the  face  and  cried: 

"  ISTo,  no !    You  shall  not !    On  no  account !    No !  " 

At  that  he  dropped  his  outstretched  arms,  but,  still  smil- 
ing his  joyous  smile,  he  continued  to  approach  her,  saying 
as  he  did  so  in  a  tone  of  affectionate  surprise  and  remon- 
strance : 

"  W^hy,  what  is  this,  O  my  Rani?  Have  we  not  joined 
hands  under  the  handkerchief?  Are  you  not  my  wife?  Am 
I  not  your  husband  ?  It  is  true  that  I  pledged  myself  to 
renunciation.  But  renunciation  is  wrong.  It  is  against 
religion,  against  God." 

He  came  nearer.  She  could  feel  his  hot  breath  upon  her 
face.  It  made  her  shiver  with  the  race-feeling  she  had 
experienced  before. 

"And  then,  how  can  I  continue  to  deny  myself?"  he 
said.  "I  am  like  one  Avho  has  been  dying  of  hunger  in  the 
sight  of  food.  You  are  my  joy,  my  flower,  my  treasure. 
God  has  given  you  to  me.    You  are  mine." 

W^ith  that  he  threw  his  irresistible  arms  about  her  again, 
and  bringing  his  glittering  eyes  close  to  her  eyes  he  whis- 
pered : 


THE    DAWX  503 

"  My  Rani !     ^ly  wife !  " 

Ilt'lcna  knew  that  the  hour  she  had  looked  forward  to 
with  dread  had  come  at  length;  she  saw  that  the  diplomacy, 
the  finesse,  the  woman's  wit  she  had  counted  upon  to  save 
her  were  useless  to  quell  the  passion  which  flashed  from 
Ishmael's  eyes  and  throbbed  in  his  voice,  and  she  made  one 
last  and  violent  effort  to  escape  from  his  arms. 

"  Let  me  go !    Let  me  go !  "  she  cried. 

"Am  I  doing  wrong?"  he  said.  "No,  no!  I  would  not 
harm  you  for  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world.  But  every  wife 
must  submit  to  her  husband." 

"  No,  no,  no ! "  she  cried  in  tones  of  repulsion  and 
loathing. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  he  replied,  still  more  tenderly,  still  more 
passionately.  "  But  if  she  is  a  good  woman  she  has  her 
modesty,  her  shield  of  shame.  That  is  only  right,  only 
natural.  It  makes  her  the  more  sweet,  the  more  dear,  the 
more  charming " 

Helena  felt  his  arms  tightening  about  her;  she  knew  that 
he  was  lifting  her  oif  her  feet,  and  realised  that  she  was 
being  carried  across  the  tent. 

Then  she  remembered  the  assurances  she  had  given  to 
Gordon,  the  promises  she  had  made  to  herself,  and  hardly 
conscious  of  what  she  did  until  it  was  done,  or  of  what  she 
was  saying  until  it  was  said,  she  brought  her  open  hands 
heavily  down  upon  his  face  and  cried  in  a  fury  of  wrath  and 
scorn : 

"  Let  me  go,  I  tell  you.  You  shall !  You  must !  Can't 
you  see  that  you  are  hateful  and  odious  to  me — that  you  are 
a  black  man  and  I  am  a  white  woman?  " 

At  the  next  moment  she  felt  Ishmael's  arms  relax  and 
she  found  herself  on  her  feet.  A  sense  of  immense,  im- 
measurable relief  came  over  her.  A  sense  of  triumph,  too, 
for  what  she  had  said  she  would  do  she  had  done. 

When  she  recovered  herself  sufficiently  to  look  at  Ish- 
mael  again  he  was  standing  apart  from  her  and  his  head 
was  down.  He  could  no  longer  deceive  himself.  A  whirl- 
wind of  chaotic  darkness  had  swept  over  him.  The  storm  of 
his  passion  was  gone. 


504  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Helena  saw  that  he  was  deeply  wounded,  and  notwith- 
standing the  aversion  he  had  inspired  in  her  a  moment 
before,  she  pitied  him  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 

"  I  am  sori-j-  for  what  I  said  just  now,"  she  mumiured 
in  a  low  tone.  "  It  was  hateful  of  me,  and  I  ask  your 
pardon." 

She  was  still  panting  and  she  had  to  pause  for  breath, 
but  he  did  not  reply, -and  after  a  moment  she  began  to 
excuse  herself,  saying  falteringly: 

"  But  you  must  see  that — that  there  could  never  have 
been  anything  between  you  and  me  because — because " 

Raising  his  eyes,  he  looked  not  into  her  face,  but  at  the 
veil  that  was  fixed  to  her  hair,  and  she  found  it  difficult 
to  go  on. 

"  Did  you  not  say  yourself,"  she  said,  "  that  marriage 
was  not  joining  hands  under  a  handkerchief  or  repeating 
words  after  a  Cadi,  but  a  sacrament  of  love,  mutual  love, 
and  that  everything  else  was  sin  ?     Therefore " 

"Well?" 

"  Therefore  if — if  I  do  not  love  you " 

"  And  you  do  not  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Allah !  Allah !  "  he  muttered  in  a  voice  that  seemed 
to  come  up  out  of  the  depths  of  his  soul,  and  at  the  next 
moment  he  sank  down  onto  the  angerib,  which  was  close 
behind  him. 

But  hardly  had  he  done  so  when  he  leaped  to  his  feet 
again  and  in  a  voice  that  rang  with  wrath  he  said : 

"Then  why  did  you  betroth  yourself  to  me?  I  put  no 
constraint  upon  you.  If  you  had  told  me  that  your  heart 
was  far  from  me  I  should  have  gone  no  further.  But  I 
gave  you  time  to  consider  and  you  came  to  me  of  your  own 
free  will.  Why  was  this?  Answer  me.  I  have  a  right  to 
know  that,  at  all  events." 

It  came  into  her  mind  to  reply  that  when  they  were 
betrothed  he  did  not  ask  her  if  she  loved  him,  and  she  did 
not  understand  that  she  was  to  belong  to  him.  But  what 
was  the  use  of  defending  herself?  On  what  ground  could 
she  justify  her  conduct? 


THE    DAWS  505 

"  Or  if,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  shook  with  the  intensity 
of  his  emotion,  "  if  it  was  after  our  betrothal  that  your 
heart  left  me — if  something  I  said  or  did  lost  me  your  love 
— why  did  you  follow  me  from  Khartoum?  You  might 
have  stayed  there.  I  was  willing  to  leave  you  behind  me. 
Why  did  you  follow  me  over  the  desert?  Why  did  you 
come  with  my  company?    Whj'  are  you  here  now?" 

She  found  it  impossible  to  answer  him,  and  feeling  how 
deeply  she  had  wronged  him,  yet  how  impossible,  how  un- 
thinkable, how  inconceivable  it  was  that  she  could  have 
acted  otherwise  than  she  had,  in  the  light  of  her  great  and 
undying  love  for  Gordon,  she  clasped  her  hands  in  front 
of  her  face  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

Her  tears  drove  away  his  anger  in  a  moment,  for  he 
mistook  the  cause  of  them,  and  deeply  and  incurably 
wounded  as  he  was,  a  wave  of  sympathy  and  compassion 
passed  over  him.  Drawing  her  hands  from  her  face  and 
holding  them  in  his  own,  he  looked  steadfastly  into  her  wet 
eyes,  and  said  in  a  softer  voice : 

"  I  see  how  it  has  been,  O  my  Rani !  You  followed  the 
teacher,  not  the  man — the  message,  not  the  poor  soiled  vol- 
ume it  was  written  in — and  perhaps  you  were  right — quite 
right." 

Every  word  he  uttered  went  like  iron  into  Helena's  soul. 

"  I  thought  a  woman  lived  by  her  heart  alone,"  he  said, 
"  and  that  when  she  betrothed  herself  it  must  be  for  love, 
not  from  any  higher  and  nobler  motive,  but  it  seems  I  was 
wrong — quite  wrong.  I  thought,  too,"  he  said,  "  that  where 
love  was,"  and  here  his  voice  thickened  and  almost  broke, 
"  there  was  neither  black  nor  white,  neither  race  nor  caste ; 
but  it  seems  I  was  wrong  in  that  also.  Forgive  me,  forgive 
me,  forgive  me !  " 

He  lifted  her  hands  in  his  own  long  and  delicate  ones 
and  put  them  to  his  lips,  and  then  gently  let  them  fall. 

"  But  God  knows  best  what  is  good  for  us,"  he  said, 
"and  perhaps — perhaps  He  has  sent  me  this  as  a  warning 
and  a  punishment,  lest — lest  I  forget — in  the  love  of  home 
and  wife  and  children,  the  task — the  great  task  He  has  laid 
upon  me.     In-sha-allah!    In-sha-allah ! " 


506  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

With  that  he  turned  to  leave  the  tent,  a  shaken  and  agi- 
tated and  totally  different  man  from  the  man  who  had 
entered  it,  and  Helena,  notwithstanding  that  she  was  deeply 
moved,  again  felt  a  sense  of  immense,  immeasurable  relief. 

But  at  the  next  moment  a  feeling  akin  to  terror  seized 
her,  for  while  Ishmael  was  unbuttoning  the  canvas  at  the 
tent's  mouth,  there  came,  over  the  dull  rumble  of  many 
sounds  outside,  a  clear,  sharp  voice  ciying: 

"  Ishmael  Ameer !  Ishmael  Ameer !  Urgent  news ! 
Where  are  you  ?  " 

Helena's  heart  stood  still.  She  seemed  to  know  in  ad- 
vance what  was  coming.  The  hour  of  Ishmael's  downfall 
had  arrived,  and  he  was  to  hear  that  he  had  been  betrayed. 
She  had  escaped  from  her  physical  danger — what,  now,  of 
her  moral  peril? 


Ill 

A  MOMENT  later  Ishmael  had  torn  the  mouth  of  the  tent 
open.  An  Egyptian  was  standing  there  in  the  turban  and 
farageeyah  of  an  Alim.  The  man,  who  was  solemnly  mak- 
ing his  salaams,  held  a  huitern  in  one  hand  and  a  letter  in 
the  other.  Behind  him,  against  the  dark  sky,  were  a  num- 
ber of  Ishmael's  own  people.  Tlieir  mouths  were  open  and 
fear  was  on  their  faces. 

"  What  words  are  these,  oh,  my  brother? "  asked  Ishmael. 

Without  speaking,  the  Alim  offered  him  the  letter.  It 
was  that  of  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar,  written  immediately 
after  the  arrest  of  Gordon. 

Ishmael  took  it,  and  standing  under  the  lamp  that  hung 
from  the  pole  of  the  tent,  he  read  it.  For  some  moments 
he  did  not  move  or  raise  his  eyes,  but  little  by  little  his 
face  assumed  a  death-like  rigidity,  and  at  length  the  paper 
crinkled  in  his  trembling  fingers. 

So  strong  had  been  his  faith  in  his  mission,  and  so  firm 
his  conviction  that  God  would  not  allow  anything  to  inter- 
fere with  its  fulfilment,  that  it  was  almost  impossible  for 
him  to  take  in  the  truth — that  his  cause  was  lost,  that  his 


TIIJ-:  DAWN  507 

pilgrimage    was    wasted,    that    his    people    could    not    enter 
Cairo,  and  their  hope  was  at  an  end. 

When  at  length  he  raised  his  eyes  he  looked  wirh  an  ex- 
pression of  blank  bewilderment  into  Helena's  face. 

"  See,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  piteous  helplesssness,  and  he 
put  the  letter  into  her  reluctant  hand. 

The  blood  rushed  to  Helena's  head,  stars  danced  before 
her  eyes,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  she  could  see  to  read. 
But  there  was  little  need  to  do  so,  for  already  she  knew,  as 
by  a  sense  of  doom,  what  the  letter  contained. 

In  a  moment  the  people  behind  the  Alim  grew  more  and 
more  numerous.  The  mouth  of  the  tent  became  choked  Avith 
them,  and  their  faces  were  blotched  with  lights  and  shadows 
from  the  lamp  within.  They  were  talking  eagerly  among 
themselves  in  low  tones,  full  of  dread.  At  length  one  of 
them  spoke  to  Ishmael. 

"Is  it  bad  news,  O  Master?"  he  asked,  but  with  the  ex- 
pressionless voice  of  one  who  knew  already  what  the  answer 
would  be. 

There  was  a  moment  of  strained  silence,  and  then  Ish- 
mael turned  again  to  Helena  and  said,  in  the  same  tone  of 
piteous  helplessness  as  before : 

"  Read  it  to  them.  Let  them  know  the  worst,  O  Rani !  " 
Helena  could  find  no  escape.  With  a  fearful  effort  she 
began  to  read  the  letter  aloud.  But  hardly  had  she  finished 
the  first  clause  of  it,  telling  Ishmael  that  his  messenger  and 
missionary  had  been  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  the  Govern- 
ment by  means  of  a  message  sent  into  Cairo  from  some  one 
who  stood  near  to  him  in  his  own  camp,  than  a  deep  groan 
came  from  the  people  at  the  mouth  of  the  tent. 

Black  Zogal  was  there  with  his  wild  eyes,  and  by  his  side 
stood  old  Zewar  Pasha  with  his  suspicious  looks. 

"Who  is  the  traitor,  O  Master?"  asked  the  old  man  in 
his  rasping  voice,  and  it  seemed  to  Helena  that  while  he 
spoke  every  eye  except  Ishmael's  was  fixed  upon  her  face. 

Then  a  fearful  thing  befell.  Ishmael,  the  man  of  peace, 
whom  none  had  ever  seen  in  any  mood  but  one  of  tender- 
ness and  love,  broke  into  a  torrent  of  fierce  passion. 

"  Allah  curse  him,  whoever  he   is !  "  he  cried.     "  Curse 


508  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

him  in  his  lying  down  and  in  his  getting  up !  Curse  him  in 
the  morning  splendour  and  in  the  still  of  night !  Curse  him 
in  the  life  that  now  is  and  in  the  life  that  is  to  come !  " 

Helena  felt  as  if  the  tent  itself  as  well  as  the  black  and 
copper-coloured  faces  at  the  mouth  of  it  were  reeling  around 
her.  But  it  was  not  alone  the  terror  of  Ishmael's  curse, 
with  its  unrevealed  reference  to  herself,  that  created  her 
confusion.  She  was  thinking  of  Gordon.  What  did  his 
arrest  imply?  Did  it  mean  that  he  had  succeeded  in  the 
perilous  task  he  had  undertaken?  Or  did  it  mean  that  he 
had  failed? 

When  she  recovered  consciousness  of  what  was  going  on 
about  her  she  heard,  above  a  wild  tumult  of  voices  outside, 
the  voice  of  a  woman  and  the  voice  of  a  boy.  She  kncAV 
that  the  woman  was  Zenoba  and  the  boy  was  Mosie.  At 
the  next  moment  both  were  coming  headlong  into  the  tent, 
the  one  dragging  the  other  through  a  way  that  had  been 
made  for  them.  The  boy's  shaven  black  head  was  bare,  his 
caftan  was  torn  open  at  the  breast,  and  his  skin  was  bleed- 
ing at  the  neck  as  if  vindictive  fingers  had  been  clutching 
him  by  the  throat.  The  woman's  swarthy  face  was  bathed 
with  sweat,  twitching  with  excitement,  and  convulsed  with 
evil  passions. 

"  There !  "  she  cried.  "  There  he  is,  O  Master !  and  if 
you  want  to  know  who  took  the  letter  to  the  English  lord, 
ask  him." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Ishmacl. 

"  Your  Kani's  servant,"  replied  the  Arab  woman,  with 
a  curl  of  her  cruel  lip.  "  He  left  Khartoum  for  Cairo  a 
month  ago,  and  has  not  been  seen  until  to-day." 

Another  deep  groan  came  from  the  people  at  the  tent's 
mouth,  and  again  it  seemed  to  Helena  that  every  eye  except 
Ishmael's  was  looking  into  her  face. 

Meantime  Mosie,  thinking  the  groan  of  the  people  was 
meant  for  him,  and  that  his  life  was  in  danger  from  their 
anger,  had  broken  away  from  the  woman's  grasp  and  flung 
himself  at  Ishmael's  feet,  crying: 

"  Mercy,  O  Master !  I  kiss  your  feet.  I  take  refuge  with 
God  and  with  you.    Save  me  and  I  will  tell  you  everything." 


THE    DAWN  509 

Ishmael,  who  by  this  time  had  regained  his  self-com- 
mand, motioned  to  the  Arab  woman  to  stand  back.  Then  he 
questioned  the  boy  calmly,  and  the  boy  answered  him  in  a 
fever  of  fear,  gasping  and  sobbing  at  every  word. 

"  My  boy,  you  have  come  out  of  Cairo  ?  " 

"Yes,  0  Master!  yes." 

"  You  went  there  from  Khartoum  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  O  Master !  yes." 

"  You  took  a  letter  to  the  English  lord  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Master,  a  letter  to  the  English  lord." 

"  From  some  one  in  Khartoum  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  my  Master  everything — from  some  one 
in  Khartoum." 

"What  treacherous  man  sent  you  wnth  that  letter?" 

"K'o  man  at  all,  O  Master!  You  see,  I  am  telling  my 
Master  everything." 

"  Was  it  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Master,  a  woman.  See,  I  kiss  your  feet.  I  keep 
nothing  back  from  my  Master." 

Another  groan  came  from  the  people  at  the  tent's  mouth 
and  the  black  boy  clutched  at  Ishmael's  white  caftan  as  if 
to  protect  himself  from  their  wrath.  Ishmael  himself  had 
a  confused  sense  of  something  terrible  that  had  not  yet 
taken  shape  in  his  mind.  He  looked  round  at  Helena,  who 
was  standing  by  the  angerib  at  the  back,  but  her  head  was 
down  and  her  thoughts  were  far  away. 

"  What  woman,  then? "  he  asked  in  a  sterner  voice. 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot  tell  you  that,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Speak,  boy.  You  shall  be  safe.  I  will  protect  you  from 
all  harm.    What  woman  was  it  ?  " 

"  Master,  do  not  ask  me.    I  dare  not  tell  you." 

"  Listen,"  said  Ishmael,  and  his  voice  grew  hard  and 
hoarse.  "  There  is  a  traitor  in  my  camp,  and  I  must  find 
out  who  it  is.  What  treacherous  woman  sent  you  into  Cairo 
with  that  letter  r' 

The  boy  struggled  hard.  His  ugly  black  face  under  his 
shaven  poll  was  distorted  by  his  fear.  He  hesitated,  began 
to  speak,  then  stopped  altogether. 

At   that  moment   Helena  came  forward  as  if  she  had 


510  THE    WHITE    TROPHET 

suddenly  awakened  from  a  dream,  and  Mosie  saw  her  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  been  dragged  into  the  tent.  In  an- 
other instant  all  fear  had  gone  from  his  face  and  his  eyes 
were  blazing  with  courage. 

"  Tell  me,  I  command  you,"  said  Ishmael. 

"  No,  no,  I  will  never  tell  you,"  said  the  boy. 

Again  a  groan — this  time  a  growl — came  from  the  people 
at  the  tent's  mouth. 

"  Torment  would  make  his  tongue  wag,"  said  one. 

"  Beat  the  innocent  until  the  guilty  confess — it  is  a  good 
maxim,  O  Master!  "  said  Zewar  in  his  rasping  tones. 

Black  Zogal,  with  his  wild  eyes,  stepped  out  as  if  to  lay 
hold  of  the  lad,  but  Ishmael  waved  him  back. 

"  Wait !  "  he  said. 

He  was  looking  at  Helena  again,  and  his  face  had  under- 
gone a  fearful  change. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  still  keeping  his  eyes  on  Helena, 
"  if  you  do  not  tell  me  I  must  give  you  back  to  the  people." 

At  that  the  boy  broke  into  a  paroxysm  of  hysterical  sobs. 

"  Xo,  no,  my  Master  will  not  do  that.  But  see,"  he  said, 
tearing  wider  his  torn  caftan  so  as  to  expose  his  breast,  "  my 
Master  himself  shall  kill  me." 

At  the  next  moment  Helena's  hand  was  on  Ishmael's 
arm. 

"  Let  the  boy  go,"  she  said    "  I  can  tell  you  the  rest." 

A  gloomy  chill  traversed  Ishmael's  heart.  He  had  a  sense 
of  spiritual  paralysis — as  if  everything  in  the  world  were 
crumbling  and  crashing  down  to  impotent  wreck  and  ruin. 

His  people  at  the  tent's  mouth  were  muttering  among 
themselves.  He  dismissed  them,  sending  everybody  away, 
including  the  boy  and  the  Arab  woman.  Most  of  them  went 
off  grudgingly,  ungraciously,  for  the  first  time  reluctant  to 
obey  his  will. 

Then  he  closed  up  the  mouth  of  the  tent,  and  was  once 
more  alone  with  Helena. 


THE    DAWN  511 


IV 

In  spite  of  the  dread  with  which,  for  more  than  a  month, 
Helena  had  looked  forward  to  the  hour  in  which  Ishmael 
should  hear  of  his  betrayal,  she  felt  none  of  the  terror  from 
that  cause  which  she  had  feared  and  expected. 

She  could  think  of  nothing  but  Gordon.  Where  was  he 
now?  What  were  they  doing  to  him?  It  seemed  to  be  the 
only  possible  explanation  of  his  arrest  that  his  scheme  for 
the  salvation  of  the  people  had  failed.  Would  he  be  handed 
over  to  the  military  authorities?  Would  he  be  tried  by 
court-martial  ?  And  what  would  be  the  punishment  of  his 
offences  as  a  soldier?  Sinking  down  on  the  angerib  she 
pressed  her  hands  over  her  brow  and  over  her  eyes  that  she 
might  think  of  this  and  shut  out  everything  else. 

Meantime  the  mind  of  Ishmael  was  going  through  a  con- 
flict as  strange  and  no  less  cruel.  Although  the  plain  evi- 
dences of  his  senses  had  already  told  him  that  he  had  been 
betrayed  by  the  woman  he  loved,  yet  the  dread  of  discover- 
ing the  traitor  in  his  own  tent,  in  his  own  wife,  filled  him 
with  terror,  and  he  tried  to  escape  from  it. 

Having  fastened  up  the  tent  he  walked  to  and  fro  for 
some  moments  without  speaking,  and  then  sitting  down  by 
Helena's  side  and  taking  her  hand  and  smoothing  it,  he  said 
in  his  throbbing,  quivering  voice : 

"  Eani,  we  have  eaten  bread  and  salt  together.  Be  faith- 
ful with  me — what  woman  sent  that  letter?" 

Helena  hardly  heard  what  he  was  saying.  She  was  still 
thinking  of  Gordon.  "  They  will  condemn  him  to  death," 
she  told  herself. 

"  Rani,"  said  Ishmael  again,  "  we  have  lived  under  the 
same  roof;  you  have  shared  with  me  the  closest  secrets  of 
my  soul.     Tell  me — what  woman  sent  that  letter?" 

Helena  looked  at  him  and  tried  to  listen,  but  Gordon's 
doom  was  ringing  in  her  ears,  and  it  drowned  all  the  other 
sounds  of  life. 

"  Eani,"  said  Ishmael  once  more,  "  though  you  denied 
me  the  rights  of  a  husband,  yet  you  are  my  wife.    Our  lives 


512  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

have  been  united  not  by  man  but  by  God,  and  in  the  presence 
of  Ilim  whose  name  be  exalted — of  Him  who  reads  all  hearts 
— I  ask  you — what  woman  sent  that  letter  ?  " 

Helena  heard  him,  yet  terrible  as  his  question  was,  and 
perilous  as  she  knew  her  answer  must  be,  she  felt  no  fear. 
''  1*11  tell  him,"  she  thought.  "  Why  not  ?  It  does  not  mat- 
ter now." 

"  Rani,"  said  Ishmael  yet  again,  "  God  gives  me  the  right 
to  command  you.  I  do  command  you.  What  woman  sent 
that  letter?" 

"  I  did,"  said  Helena,  and  though  the  words  were  spoken 
in  a  faltering  whisper  they  seemed  to  Ishmael  like  a  deafen- 
ing roar. 

"  Allah !  Allah ! "  he  cried,  leaping  to  his  feet,  for 
though  he  had  expected  that  reply  he  reeled  under  it  as 
under  a  blow. 

Helena  realised  what  her  answer  meant  to  him,  and 
again,  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  pitied  him,  but 
at  the  next  moment  her  thoughts  swung  back  to  her  own 
trouble. 

She  remembered  that  her  father  had  admitted  that  the 
British  Army  in  Egypt  was  always  on  active  service,  and 
she  asked  herself  what  would  happen  to  Gordon  if  the  mili- 
tary authorities  lost  their  heads  in  fear  of  insurrection. 
Would  they  try  him  by  Field  General  Court-Martial  I  In 
that  case  would  the  Court  be  called  instantly?  Would  the 
inquiry  last  only  a  few  minutes?  Would  the  sentence  be 
carried  into  immediate  effect? 

"O  God!  can  it  be  possible  that  it  is  all  over  already?" 
she  asked  herself. 

Meantime  Ishmael,  after  moments  of  suffering  which 
seemed  hours  of  eternity,  was  again  struggling  to  resist  the 
only  conclusion  the  facts  had  left  to  him.  It  was  true  that 
the  Rani  had  confessed  to  sending  the  letter  which  had  led 
to  the  arrest  of  his  messenger,  but  all  his  heart  rebelled 
against  the  inference  that  she  had  intended  to  betray  his 
cause  and  his  people  Had  she  not  cast  in  her  own  lot  with 
them  ?  Had  she  not  come  from  a  distant  country  and  a 
richer  home  to  live  in  their  poor  house  in  Khartoum  ?    And 


[Page  :i'.>7.] 

"She  was  l)eiiig  carried  into  the  silence  of  her 
own  room." 


THE    DAWN  513 

had  she  not  endured  the  hardship  of  the  desert  journey  in 
their  company? 

Like  a  man  who  had  been  shipwrecked  in  a  whirlwind  of 
darkness,  he  was  groping  blindly  through  tempestuous  waves 
for  some  means  of  rescue  At  length  a  sort  of  raft  of  hope 
came  to  him,  a  helpless,  impotent  thing,  but  he  clung  to  it, 
and  sitting  down  by  Helena's  side  again  he  said  in  the  same 
piteous  voice  as  before: 

"  I  see  how  it  has  been,  oh,  my  Kani.  You  did  not  intend 
to  betray  my  people — my  poor  people  whose  sufferings  you 
have  seen,  whose  faith  and  hopes  and  dreams  you  have 
shared  and  witnessed.  It  was  Omar  you  were  thinking  of. 
Your  heart  has  never  forgiven  him  for  taking  the  place  you 
meant  for  your  husband.  You  were  jealous  of  him  for  my 
sake,  and  your  jealousy  got  the  better  of  your  judgment. 
*  I  will  punish  him,'  you  thought.  '  I  will  make  his  mission 
of  no  effect.'  And  so  you  sent  that  letter.  But  you  did  not 
reflect  that  in  destroying  Omar  you  would  be  destroying  my 
people  also.  It  was  wrong,  it  was  cruel,  but  it  was  a  wom- 
an's fault  and  you  have  seen  it  and  suffered  for  it  ever  since. 
Jealousy  of  Omar,  perhaps  hatred  of  Omar — that  was  it, 
was  it  not,  oh,  my  Rani  ? " 

His  voice  was  breaking  as  he  spoke,  for  the  pitiful  ex- 
planation he  had  lighted  upon  was  failing  to  bring  con- 
viction to  his  own  mind,  yet  he  fixed  his  sad  eyes  eagerly 
on  Helena's  face  and  repeated: 

"  Jealousy  of  Omar,  perhaps  hatred  of  Omar — that  was 
what  caused  you  to  send  that  letter?  " 

Helena  could  not  speak.  The  pathos  of  his  error  was 
choking  her.  But  she  replied  to  him  with  a  look  which  it 
required  no  words  to  interpret. 

"  Xo ?  "  he  said.    "  Xot  of  Omar?     Of  whom,  then  ?  " 

Helena  could  not  lie.  "  He  must  know  some  day,"  she 
thought. 

"  Of  whom,  then  ? "  he  repeated  in  his  helpless  confusion. 

"  Yourself,"  she  replied. 

"  Allah !  Allah !  Myself !  Myself !  "  he  said  in  a  breath- 
less whisper,  rising  to  his  feet  again  and  striding  across 
the  tent. 


514  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

At  the  first  moment  after  Helena's  confession  it  seemed 
to  Ishmael  that  both  sun  and  moon  had  suffered  eclipse  and 
the  world  was  in  total  darkness.  Why  had  the  Rani  betrayed 
him?  From  what  motive?  For  what  object?  He  tried  to 
follow  her  thoughts  and  found  it  impossible  to  do  so. 

There  was  a  short  period  of  frightful  silence,  and  then, 
feeling  as  if  he  wanted  to  cry,  he  drew  up  before  Helena 
again,  and  said  in  a  husky  voice,  his  swarthy  face  trembling 
and  twitching: 

"  But  Avliy,  O  Rani  ?  I  had  done  you  no  wrong.  From 
the  day  you  came  to  me  I  did  all  I  could  for  you — all  I 
could  to  make  your  nights  peaceful  and  your  mornings 
happy.     Why  has  your  heart  been  so  far  away  from  me?" 

Helena  felt  that  the  time  had  come  to  tell  him  every- 
thing. Yet  in  order  to  do  so  she  must  begin  with  the  death 
of  her  father,  and  she  could  not  speak  of  that  without  in- 
A'olving  Gordon.  "  But  that  is  impossible,"  she  thought, 
"  absolutely  impossible." 

"  Speak,"  said  Ishmael.  "  When  you  sent  your  letter  to 
the  English  lord  you  must  have  known  that  you  were  doom- 
ing me  to  death — what  had  I  done  to  deserve  it  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you — I  cannot,  I  cannot,"  she  answered. 

"  It  is  unnecessary,"  said  Ishmael. 

In  the  moment  of  Helena's  silence  a  terrible  explanation 
of  her  conduct  had  come  to  him,  and  he  thought  he  saw, 
as  by  flashes  of  lightning,  into  the  dark  abyss  that  was  at 
his  feet. 

His  manner,  which  had  been  gentle  down  to  that  moment, 
suddenly  became  harsh,  and  his  voice,  which  had  been  soft, 
became  hard. 

"  When  did  you  send  that  letter  ?  "  he  demanded. 

She  saw  the  stern  closing  of  his  lips,  and  for  an  instant 
she  felt  afraid. 

"  Was  it  before  the  meeting  of  the  Sheikhs  at  which 
Omar  was  chosen  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  If  Gordon  was  to  be  condemned  to 
death  it  was  of  no  consequence  what  become  of  her. 

"  You  told  the  English  lord  that  Ishmael  was  coming  to 
Cairo?" 


THE    DAWN  515 

"Yes."  His  deep,  impenetrable  eyes  seemed  to  be  look- 
ing througli  and  through  her. 

"With  what  object  and  in — in  what  disguise?" 

"  Yes."  She  knew  she  was  dashing  herself  to  destruction, 
but  no  matter. 

"  When  you  sent  your  letter  you  said  to  yourself,  '  Ish- 
mael  will  go  into  Cairo,  but  my  letter  shall  go  before  him.' 
Yes?" 

"  Yes."  In  the  lowest  depths  of  her  soul  she  felt  that  if 
he  killed  her  now  she  did  not  care. 

"  And  when  Omar  stepped  into  the  place  you  had  meant 
for  me  you  thought,  '  The  letter  I  wrote  to  destroy  Ishmael 
will  destroy  Omar  instead?'" 

"  Yes." 

"Was  that  why  you  tried  to  prevent  Omar  from  going?  " 

"  Yes."     Tears  were  choking  her  utterance. 

"Why  you  were  unwilling  to  make  the  kufiah?" 

"Yes.""^ 

"Why  you  fainted  in  the  mosque?" 

She  bowed  her  head,  being  unable  to  utter  another  word. 

"  Then,"  said  Ishmael,  and  his  voice  rose  to  a  husky 
cry,  "  then  it  was  love  of  Omar,  not  hatred  of  him,  that  in- 
spired your  letter?" 

She  made  no  reply.  Filled  as  she  was  with  shame  for 
what  she  had  done  to  Ishmael,  the  image  of  Gordon  was 
still  in  her  mind.  Even  at  that  moment,  when  terrible  con- 
sequences threatened  her, .  she  could  not  help  thinking  of 
him.  If  he  were  tried  by  Field  General  Court-Martial  to- 
night he  might  be  executed  in  the  morning ! 

That  thought  carried  her  back  to  the  Citadel.  She  was 
on  the  drilling-ground  in  the  dead  gray  light  of  dawn.  A 
regiment  of  soldiers  were  drawn  up  in  line.  Sis  of  them 
stood  out  from  the  rest  -with  rifles  to  their  shoulders.  And 
before  them,  standing  alone,  with  his  back  to  the  ramparts, 
was  one  condemned  but  dauntless  man.  "  My  last  thoughts 
are  about  you,"  he  was  saying  to  her,  and  living  in  that 
cruel  dream  she  burst  into  tears. 

Again  Ishmael  misunderstood  her  weeping,  and  again  a 
■wave  of  compassion  passed  over  him. 


516  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  It.  is  possible  I  am  wrong,"  he  said.  "  I  may  be  judg- 
ing you  unjustly.  In  that  case  tell  me  so  and  I  will  kiss 
your  feet.    I  will  ask  your  pardon." 

She  could  not  speak.  "  This  Avill  end  in  some  way,"  she 
thought. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  speak !  Tell  me  you  do  not  love 
this  man.     Tell  me  I  am  wrong,"  he  cried. 

"  Xo,  you  are  not  wrong,"  she  said.  "  I  do  love  him  and 
I  am  in  despair.  All  you  have  said  is  true,  but  I  cannot 
help  it.  I  am  a  wicked  woman,  and  my  life  by  your  side  has 
been  a  deception  from  the  first." 

With  that  she  burst  into  another  flood  of  tears,  and  fall- 
ing face  downward  on  the  angerib  she  buried  her  head  in 
the  pillow. 

"  Allah !  Allah !  "  said  Ishmacl,  and  all  the  blood  in  his 
body  seemed  to  flush  his  heart.  He  was  passing  through  the 
supreme  phase  of  his  agony — perhaps  the  crudest  that  man 
can  suffer — the  agony  of  knowing  that  the  woman  he  loved, 
the  woman  he  worshipped,  loved  and  worshipped  another  man. 

In  the  cloud  of  maddening  thoughts  which  sprang  to  his 
brain  he  imagined  he  read  the  mystery  of  Helena's  conduct 
from  the  first.  Remembering  that  she  had  called  him  a 
black  man,  the  wild  deep  heart  in  him  rose  to  a  fever  of 
jealous  wrath. 

"  I  see  how  it  has  been,"  he  said.  "  The  white  man  came 
to  my  tent.  I  welcomed  him.  I  loved  him.  I  trusted  him. 
He  was  my  brother  and  he  slept-  by  my  side.  I  made  him 
free  of  my  harem.  I  put  my  honour  in  his  hands.  And 
how  did  he  repay  me?  By  robbing  me  of  the  love  that  was 
my  love,  the  heart  that  was  my  heart." 

She  tried  to  speak,  to  protest,  but  in  a  torrent  of  wrath 
he  bore  her  down. 

"  Your  white  man  has  overreached  himself,  though.  '  I 
will  outdo  Ishmael  in  her  eyes,'  he  thought.  But  he  has 
only  fallen  into  the  pit  that  was  dug  for  me.  Let  him  perish 
there,  and  the  curse  of  God  be  on  him !  " 

Again  she  tried  to  protest,  and  again  in  the  blind  hurri- 
cane of  his  anger  he  silenced  her. 

"  And  you — it  was  nothing  to  you  that  in  betraying  me 


THE    DAWN  517 

you  were  betraying  my  people  also — my  poor  people  who  have 
suffered  so  much  and  followed  me  so  faithfully." 

His  face  was  terrible — it  had  the  sullen  glow  of  the 
western  sky  before  a  storm. 

"  You  have  wrecked  my  hopes  in  the  hour  of  their  ful- 
filment. You  have  made  dust  and  ashes  of  the  expectations 
of  my  people.  You  have  uncovered  my  nakedness  and  made 
me  a  thing  to  point  the  finger  at  and  to  scorn.  You  have 
turned  my  heart  to  stone." 

Then  the  wild  anguish  of  the  jealous  man  became  united 
to  the  fierce  wrath  of  the  fanatic,  and  going  nearer  to 
Helena  and  leaning  over  her  he  said : 

"  Worse  than  that — a  hundredfold  worse — you  have  made 
the  plans  and  promises  of  God  of  no  avail.  You  have  al- 
lowed the  Evil  One  to  enter  into  your  heart  and  to  use  your 
guilty  passions  to  defeat  the  schemes  of  the  Most  High. 
Therefore,"  he  said,  raising  his  quivering  voice  until  it  rang 
through  the  tent  like  a  tortured  cry,  "  therefore  as  the  in- 
strument of  Satan  you  have  no  right  to  live.  I  say  you 
have  no  right  to  live.  And  I — I  who  have  loved  you — I 
whose  heart  has  been  wrapped  about  you  like  the  rope  about 
the  wheel  of  the  well — I  whom  you  have  betrayed  and  de- 
stroyed and — and  my  people  with  me — it  is  I — yes,  it  is  I 
who  must — who  must " 

Helena  heard  him  stammering  and  sobbing  over  her.  At 
the  same  time  she  felt  that  his  strong  ferocious  hands  were 
laying  hold  of  her.  She  felt  that  the  long  Eastern  veil  that 
had  hung  down  her  back  was  being  wrapped  around  her 
throat.  She  felt  that  its  folds  were  growing  tighter  and  yet 
tighter  and  that  she  was  being  strangled  and  was  losing  con- 
sciousness. 

Then  suddenly  she  became  aware  that  Ishmael's  formid- 
able grasp  had  slackened,  that  he  had  stepped  back  from  the 
angerib  on  which  she  lay,  and  was  saying  to  himself  in  a 
tremulous  whisper : 

"Allah!  Allah!  What  is  this  I  am  doing?  Allah! 
Allah'    Allah!" 

And  at  the  next  moment  she  realised  that  in  horror  of 
his  own  impulse  he  had  turned  and  fled  out  of  the  tent. 
34 


518  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


Being  left  alone,  Helena's  emotions  were  so  strange,  so 
bewildering,  so  overpowering  that  she  could  not  immedi- 
ately make  out  clearly  what  she  felt  The  most  contradictory 
thoughts  and  feelings  crowded  upon  her. 

First  came  a  sense  of  suffocating  shame,  due  to  Ishmael's 
hideous  misconception  of  her  relation  to  Gordon,  which  put 
her  into  the  position  of  an  unfaithful  wife.  But  would  the 
truth  have  been  any  better — that  she  was  not  an  Indian  Rani, 
not  a  Muslemah,  that  she  and  Gordon  had  known  and  loved 
each  other  before  Ishmael  came  into  their  lives,  and  that 
a  desire  to  punish  him  for  coming  between  them  had  been 
the  impulse  that  had  taken  her  to  Khartoum? 

Xext  came  a  sense  of  her  utter  degradation  during  the 
recent  scene,  in  which  her  lips  had  been  sealed  and  she  had 
been  compelled  to  submit  to  Ishmael's  just  and  natural 
wrath. 

Then  came  a  sense  of  abject  humiliation  with  the  thought 
that  Ishmael  had  been  right  from  the  beginning  and  she 
had  been  wrong,  and  therefore  she  had  merited  all  that  had 
come  to  her.  "  If  he  had  killed  me  I  could  have  forgiven 
him,"  she  told  herself. 

Finally  (perhaps  from  some  deep  place  in  her  Jewish 
blood)  came  the  feeling  that  after  all  it  was  not  so  much 
Ishmael  who  had  been  shaming  her  for  her  treachery  as  the 
Almighty  who  had  been  punishing  her  for  attempting  to 
take  His  vengeance  out  of  His  hand.  "  Vengeance  is  Mine," 
saith  the  Lord,  and  her  impious  act  had  deserved  the  penalty 
that  had  overtaken  it. 

But  against  all  this,  opposing  it,  fighting  it,  conquering 
it,  triumphing  over  it,  was  the  memory  of  her  love  for  Gor- 
don. "  I  loved  him  and  I  could  not  have  acted  otherwise," 
she  thought. 

More  plainly  than  ever  she  now  saw  that  her  love  for 
Gordon  had  been  the  first  cause  and  origin  of  all  she  had 
done.  This  single-hearted  devotion  left  her  nothing  else 
to  think  about.     It  wiped  out  Ishmael  and  his  troubles  and 


THE    DAWN  519 

all  the  ti-oublcs  of  his  people.  "  I  may  be  selfish  and  cruel, 
but  I  cannot  help  it,"  she  told  herself  again  and  again,  as 
she  continued  to  lie  where  Ishmael  had  left  her,  face  down 
on  the  angerib,  shaken  with  sobs. 

After  a  while  she  heard  a  step  approaching.  The  Arab 
woman  had  entered  the  tent. 

"  So  you  are  there,  oh,  my  beauty,"  said  Zenoba  with  a 
bitter  ring  in  her  voice. 

Without  raising  her  head  to  look,  Helena  knew  that  the 
usual  obsequious  smiles  had  gone  from  the  woman's  face, 
and  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  undisguised  contempt.  In 
another  moment  all  the  impulses  of  hatred  which  had 
scoured  through  her  jealous  soul  for  months  fell  on  Helena 
in  bitter  reproaches. 

"  I  knew  it  would  come  to  this.  I  always  told  him  so,  but 
he  would  not  listen.  '  Ask  pardon  of  God,  Zenoba,'  he  said. 
Now  he  will  have  to  ask  pardon  of  me." 

Helena  could  hardly  control  herself,  but  with  an  effort 
she  submitted  in  silence  and  let  the  woman  have  her  way. 

"  Anybody  might  have  seen  what  was  going  on  from  the 
moment  the  white  Christian  came  to  Khartoum.  But  no, 
it  was  no  use  talking.  When  a  man  looks  at  a  woman  he 
sees  her  eyes,  not  her  heart,  and  is  blind  to  those  that  love 
and  serve  him." 

Helena's  own  heart  was  beating  violently  and  painfully, 
but  she  compelled  herself  to  lie  still.  "  It's  no  more  than  I 
deserve,"  she  thought. 

And  then  the  Arab  woman  lashed  her  to  the  bone  with 
reports  of  what  the  people  in  the  camp  were  saying.  All 
that  had  happened  might  have  been  foreseen.  He  who  tried 
to  emancipate  woman  had  been  the  first  to  suffer  for  it. 
Good  women  did  not  wish  to  be  emancipated,  and  the  bad 
women  who  let  their  veils  fall  and  meddled  Avith  the  affairs 
of  men,  only  wanted  to  imitate  the  evil  ways  of  the  women 
of  the  West.  "  Our  mothers  did  not  do  it,  and  neither  shall 
our  wives,"  said  some,  while  others  declared  that  it  was 
better  to  have  a  thousand  enemies  outside  your  house  than 
one  within. 

The  camp  was  utterly  disorganised,  utterly  demoralised. 


520  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Instead  of  the  singing  and  rejoicing  of  an  hour  ago,  there 
was  now  wailing  and  lamentation;  instead  of  prayer  and 
praise,  there  was  cursing  and  swearing.  Some  of  the  people, 
in  a  state  of  panic,  were  saying  that  the  soldiers  of  the 
Christian  government  would  soon  be  upon  them;  that  they 
would  be  shot  dead  with  bullets;  that  they  would  be  carried 
into  Cairo  as  prisoners  and  crucified  in  the  public  streets; 
that  the  Christians  would  eat  their  flesh  and  suck  their 
blood ;  that  those  who  were  not  slgiin  would  be  walking  skele- 
tons and  talking  images  and  made  to  worship  the  wooden 
cross  instead  of  their  own  God,  their  Allah.  As  a  conse- 
quence, many  were  packing  their  baggage  hurriedly  and  turn- 
ing the  heads  of  their  camels  to  the  south.  Boats  were  being 
unmoored  at  Bedrasheen  and  boatloads  were  preparing  to 
push  off. 

Desolation  was  over  the  whole  camp.  The  hopes  of  the 
people  were  in  the  dust.  Some  of  the  women  were  kneeling 
on  the  ground  and  throwing  the  sand  over  their  heads  and 
faces.  Some  of  the  men  were  heaping  insults  on  Ishmael's 
name — their  former  love  and  reverence  being  already  gone. 
"  Where  are  the  promises  he  made  us  ? "  they  were  asking. 
"  Is  it  for  this  that  he  brought  us  from  our  homes  ?  " 

Others  were  calling  and  searching  for  the  Master.  His 
tent  was  empty.  He  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Had  he  de- 
serted them  in  their  hour  of  trouble?  "  Where  is  he? "  they 
were  crying.  "  What  has  become  of  him  ?  "  No  one  knew. 
Even  Black  Zogal  could  not  say.  And  then  some  were  cry- 
ing, "  Ela'an  abu,  abu,  abu !  "  ("  Cursed  be  his  father,  and 
his  father's  father,  and  his  father's  father's  father!"). 

But  worse,  far  worse,  because  more  fierce  and  terrible 
than  the  people's  anger  against  Ishmael,  was  their  wrath 
against  the  "  White  Woman."  It  was  she  who  had  betrayed 
them.  But  for  her  evil  influence  and  secret  schemes  they 
might  have  inherited  Egypt  and  all  the  rich  lands  and  treas- 
ures of  the  Valley  of  the  Nile.  Listen !  They  were  gather- 
ing about  the  tent,  and  murmuring  and  shouting  excitedly. 
Hark!  That  was  Zogal's  voice — he  was  persuading  them  to 
go  away. 

"  But  they'll  come  back,  oh,  my  beauty,"  said  Zenoba. 


THE    DAWN  521 

"  Better  get  away  before  they  return  and  tear  you  to  pieces, 
as  a  hungry  jackal  tears  a  dog." 

With  that  merciless  word  the  bitter-hearted  woman  took 
herself  off,  leaving  Helena  still  lying  face  down  on  the 
angerib  in  her  agony  of  mingled  anger  and  shame. 

Being  once  more  left  alone  in  the  tent,  Ilelena  continued 
to  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  camp.  The  wailing  of  the 
women,  who  were  throwing  sand  over  their  heads,  seemed 
as  if  it  would  never  cease.  At  length  some  of  them  began 
to  sing.  They  sang  songs  of  sorrow  which  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  songs  of  victory  which  the  men  had  sung 
before.  The  weird  and  monotonous  but  moving  notes  that 
are  peculiar  to  Arab  music  sounded  like  dirges  in  the  depth 
of  night. 

The  people  were  in  despair.  Their  consoling  and  inspir- 
ing idea  of  divine  guidance  was  gone,  and  the  hope  that  had 
sustained  their  souls  through  the  toils  of  the  desert  march 
was  dead.  The  myth  of  Ishmael's  divinity  had  already  dis- 
appeared ;  the  Master  was  no  longer  the  Redeemer,  the 
Mahdi,  the  Christ.  All  that  had  been  a  hideous  illusion,  a 
mirage  of  the  soul,  without  reason  or  reality. 

It  was  terrible,  it  was  horrible,  it  was  almost  as  if  the 
whole  people  had  died  an  hour  ago  in  "  the  sure  and  certain 
hope,"  and  then  suddenly  awakened  in  the  other  world  to 
find  that  there  was  no  God,  no  heaven,  no  reward  for  the 
pains  of  this  life,  and  all  they  had  looked  for  and  expected 
had  been  the  shadow  of  a  dream. 

Listening  to  this  as  she  lay  on  the  angerib,  and  thinking 
she  was  partly  to  blame  for  it,  Helena  asked  herself  if  there 
was  anything  she  could  do  to  save  Ishmael  and  his  people. 

"O  God!  is  there  nothing  I  can  do?"  she  thought. 

At  first  there  came  no  answer  to  this  question.  Do  what 
she  would  to  fix  her  mind  on  the  people's  sufferings  and 
Ishmael's  downfall,  her  mind  swung  back  to  its  old  subject 
and  once  again  she  thought  of  Gordon  and  his  arrest. 

Things  in  that  regard  were  plainer  to  her  now.  The  idea 
of  a  Field  General  Court-Martial,  which  had  made  her  chill 
with  fear,  had  been  the  figment  of  an  over-excited  brain. 
Whatever  had  happened  to  Gordon's  efforts  in  the  interests 


522  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

of  peace — whether  they  had  failed  or  succeeded — his  own 
trial  would  take  the  ordinary  course.  A  military  court  of 
the  usual  kind  would  have  to  be  summoned,  its  sentence 
would  have  to  be  confirmed  and  only  the  King  could  con- 
firm it. 

All  this  would  take  time  and  therefore  there  was  no 
need  for  panic.  But  meantime  what  was  Gordon's  position? 
He  had  been  arrested  in  mistake  for  Ishmael,  and  conse- 
quently he  would,  one  way  or  another,  be  liable  to  punish- 
ment for  Ishmael's  offence.  That  was  to  say,  for  the  offence 
she  had  attributed  to  Ishmael.  Yet  Gordon  had  done  no 
wrong,  he  had  intended  no  evil. 

"  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  ? — nothing  at  all  ?  "  she 
asked  herself  again. 

Suddenly  a  light  dawned  on  her.  If  the  Consul-General 
could  be  made  to  see  what  Gordon's  motives  had  really 
been — to  save  England,  to  save  Egypt,  to  save  the  good  name 
of  his  own  father — and  if  he  could  be  made  to  realise  that 
Ishmael's  aim  was  not  rebellion  and  his  followers  were  not 
an  armed  force,  but  merely  a  vast  concourse  of  religious 
visionaries — w'hat  then  ? 

Then  as  a  just  man,  if  a  stern  and  hard  one,  he  would  be 
compelled  to  see  that  his  own  son  was  not  punished,  and  per- 
haps— who  could  say? — he  might  even  permit  Ishmael's 
people  to  enter  Cairo. 

Vague,  undefined  and  unconsidered  as  this  idea  was, 
Helena  leaped  at  it  as  a  solution  of  all  their  difficulties, 
and  when  she  asked  herself  how  she  was  to  bring  conviction 
to  the  Consul-General's  mind  she  remembered  Gordon's 
letters. 

Nothing  could  be  better.  Being  written  before  the  event, 
and  intended  for  her  eyes  only,  they  must  be  convincing 
to  anybody  whatever  and  absolutely  irresistible  to  a  father. 
Private?  No  matter!  Intimate  and  affectionate  and  full 
of  the  closest  secrets  of  the  soul  ?  Never  mind  !  She  w^ould 
share  them  with  one  who  was  flesh  of  Gordon's  flesh,  for  his 
heart  must  be  with  her  and  the  issue  was  life  or  death. 

Yes,  she  would  go  into  Cairo,  see  the  Consul-General, 
show  him   Gordon's  letters,  and  prove   and  explain   every- 


THE    DAWN  523 

thing.  Thus  she  who  had  been  the  first  cause  of  the  peo- 
ple's sufferings,  of  Ishmael's  downfall  and  of  Gordon's 
arrest,  would  be  Gordon's,  Ishmael's,  and  the  people's  de- 
liverer !     Yes,  she,  she,  she ! 

But  wait!  Had  she  not  promised  Gordon  that  she 
would  remain  in  the  camp,  whatever  happened?  She  had. 
But  that  promise  was  annulled  by  this  time,  while  this 
great  ei*rand  must  be  precisely  what  she  had  been  sent  there 
for,  and  by  flying  away  now  she  would  be  fulfilling  her 
destiny  in  a  wider  and  deeper  sense  than  even  Gordon  him- 
self could  have  conceived. 

"  I'll  go  at  once,"  she  thought,  and  she  sprang  up  from 
the  angerib  to  carry  out  her  purpose. 

As  she  did  so  she  saw  a  little  ugly  black  face,  all 
blubbered  over  with  tears,  on  the  ground  beside  her.  It 
was  Mosie,  and  he  was  kissing  the  hem  of  her  skirt  and 
saying : 

"  Mosie  very  sorry.  He  not  know.  "Will  lady  ever  for- 
give Mosie  ? " 

Helena's  heart  leaped  up  at  sight  of  the  boy.  She  wanted 
his  help  immediately,  and  his  unexpected  appearance  at 
that  moment  was  like  an  assurance  from  heaven  that  what 
she  intended  to  do  ought  to  be  done. 

Comforting  the  lad  and. drying  his  eyes,  she  asked  him 
in  breathless  whispers  a  number  of  questions.  Where  was 
the  donkey  on  which  he  had  ridden  into  the  camp  ?  It  was 
near  by,  tethered.  Did  he  know  the  way  to  the  railway 
station  at  Bedrasheen?  He  did.  Could  he  lead  her  there 
through  the  darkness?  He  could.  It  was  now  half-past  nine 
— would  there  be  a  train  to  Cairo  soon?  Yes,  for  the  Alim 
had  just  gone  to  catch  one  that  was  to  go  to  Boulaq  Dacrour 
at  ten  o'clock. 

"  The  very  thing,"  said  Helena.  "  Bring  your  donkey 
to  the  back  of  the  tent  and  wait  there  until  I  come." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  boy,  now  ablaze  Avith  eagerness, 
and  kissing  both  her  hands  alternately,  he  shot  out  on  his 
errand. 

Then  Helena  picked  up  a  little  locked  handbag  which 
contained  Gordon's  precious  letters,  added  her  own  letter  to 


524  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

them,  and  after  extinguishing  the  lamp  that  hung  from  the 
pole,  stepped  out  of  the  tent. 

A  few  minutes  later,  mounted  on  a  donkey  that  was  led 
by  a  boy,  a  woman,  looking  like  an  Egyptian,  with  her 
black  skirt  drawn  over  the  back  of  her  head  and  closely 
clipped  under  her  nose,  was  picking  her  way  through  the 
darkness. 

All  was  quiet  by  this  time.  The  weeping  and  wailing  had 
at  last  come  to  an  end,  and  from  the  vast  encampment  there 
rose  nothing  but  the  deep  somnambulant  moan  that  comes 
up  from  a  great  city  when  it  is  falling  asleep.  The  fires 
wore  smouldering  out,  and  the  people,  such  of  them  as 
remained,  were  lying,  some  in  their  tents,  others  out- 
stretched on  the  sand,  all  weary  and  heartbroken  in  the 
misery  of  their  dead  hope,  their  dead  dream,  their  dead 
faith. 

A  kind  of  soulless  silence  hung  in  the  air.  Even  the 
call  of  the  night-watchman  ("God  is  one!")  was  no  more 
to  be  heard.  Only  the  braying  of  donkeys  at  intervals,  the 
ruckling  of  camels  and  the  barking  of  dogs. 

There  was  no  moon,  but  the  stars  were  thick  and  one 
was  falling. 


VI 

Taking  his  steam-launch  which  had  been  moored  to 
the  boat-landing  of  the  Ghezirah  Palace,  the  Consul-General 
returned  home  immediately  after  Gordon's  arrest.  He  did 
not  wait  to  say  what  was  to  be  done  with  the  prisoner,  or 
to  tell  his  officials  what  further  steps,  if  any,  were  to  be 
taken  to  prevent  the  expected  insurrection.  One  ovenvhelm- 
ing  event  had  wiped  ever;s-thing  else  out  of  his  mind.  His 
plans  had  been  frustrated ;  he  had  been  degraded,  made  a 
laughing  stock  of,  and  by  Gordon — his  own  son. 

As  his  launch  skimmed  across  the  river  in  the  darkness 
he  could  hear  in  the  back-wash  of  the  screw,  the  guffaws  of 
the  diplomatic  corps,  and  in  the  throbbing  of  the  engine  the 
choking  laughter  of  the  whole  world. 


THE    DAWN  525 

* 

His  mind  was  going  like  a  weaver's  shuttle,  and  he  was 
asking  himself  by  what  sinister  development  of  fate  this 
devilish  surprise  had  been  brought  about.  He  could  find 
no  answer.  In  the  bafiiing  mystery  of  events  only  one  thing 
seemed  clear — that  Gordon,  when  he  disappeared  from  Cairo 
after  the  affair  of  El  Azhar,  had  not  gone  to  America  or 
India  or  Australia,  as  everybody  had  supposed,  but  straight 
to  the  man  Ishmael's  camp,  and  that  he  had  allowed  himself 
to  be  used  by  that  charlatan  mummer  to  further  his  in- 
trigues. Against  his  own  father,  too !  His  father  who  had 
been  thinkingof  him  every  day,  every  night,  and  nearly  all 
night,  and  was  now,  by  his  instrumentality,  made  an  object 
of  derision  and  contempt. 

"Fool!  Fool!  Fool!"  thought  the  Consul-General, 
and  his  anger  against  Gordon  burned  in  his  heart  like  a 
fierce  and  consuming  fire. 

On  reaching  the  Agency  he  went  upstairs  to  his  room 
and  rang  violently  for  Fatimah.  Somebody  within  his  own 
household  had  become  aware  of  his  plans  and  revealed 
them  to  his  enemies.  He  had  little  doubt  of  the  identity 
of  the  traitor,  for  he  remembered  Fatimah's  unexpected 
appearance  in  the  dining-room  the  night  before,  and  her 
confusion  and  lame  excuse  when  the  Sirdar  observed  her 
presence. 

Fatimah  answered  her  bell  cheerfully  as  one  who  had 
nothing  to  fear,  but  the  moment  she  saw  the  Consul-Gener- 
al's face,  with  the  deep  folds  in  his  forehead  and  the  hard 
and  implacable  lines  about  his  mouth,  she  dropped  on  her 
knees  before  he  had  uttered  a  word. 

"  What  is  this  you  have  been  doing,  woman  ? "  he  de- 
manded, in  a  stern  voice,  whereupon  Fatimah  made  no 
attempt  at   disguise. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  O  Master ! "  she  said,  breaking 
into  tears.  "  I  would  have  given  him  my  eyes.  He  was 
the  same  as  my  own  son  and  I  had  suckled  him  at  my 
breast.     Can  a  woman  deny  anything  to  her  own  ?  " 

The  Consul-General  looked  down  at  her  for  a  moment 
in  silence  and  his  drooping  lower  lip  trembled.     Then  with 
a  gesture  of, impatience  he  said: 
35 


526  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Get  away  to  your  room  at  once,"  and  opening  the  door 
for  her  he  closed  and  locked  it  when  she  was  gone. 

But  the  momentary  spasm  of  tenderness  toward  Gordon 
which  had  come  to  the  Consul-General  at  sight  of  the 
foster-mother's  love  disappeared  at  the  next  instant.  The 
only  excuse  he  could  find  for  his  son's  conduct  in  duping 
his  ignorant  Egyptian  nurse  was  that  perhaps  he  had  him- 
self been  duped. 

After  the  first  plans  had  been  formed  in  Khartoum  and 
Helena's  letter  had  been  despatched,  the  "  fanatic-hypocrite  " 
had  probably  discovered  that  his  intrigue  had  become  known 
in  Cairo.  That  he  had  put  Gordon  into  the  gap,  and  Gor- 
don had  been  so  simple,  so  innocent,  so  stupid  as  to  be 
deceived !  There  was  small  comfort  in  this  reading  of  the 
riddle  and  the  Consul-General's  fury  and  shame  increased 
tenfold. 

"  Fool !  Fool !  Fool !  "  he  thought,  and  taking  from 
the  mantelpiece  the  portrait  of  the  boy  in  the  Arab  fez,  he 
looked  at  it  for  a  moment  and  then  flung  it  back  impatient- 
ly.    It  fell  onto  the  floor. 

Some  minutes  passed  in  which  the  infuriated  man  was 
unconscious  of  his  surroundings,  for  great  anger  wipes  out 
time  and  place,  and  then  he  became  aware  that  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door  of  his  room. 

"Who's  there?"  he  cried. 

It  was  Ibrahim.  He  had  come  to  tell  his  Excellency 
that  two  reporters  from  Renter's  Agency  were  below  by 
appointment  and  wished  to  hear  what  his  Excellency  had 
to  give  them. 

"  Nothing.     Send  them  away,"  said  the  Consul-General. 

A  moment  afterward  there  was  another  knock  at  the 
door. 

"Who's  there  now?"  cried  the  Consul-General. 

It  was  his  First  Secretary.  The  Adviser  to  the  Ministry 
of  Justice  had  come  to  say  that  the  Special  Tribunal  had 
been  summoned  and  the  Judges  were  waiting  for  further 
instructions. 

"  Tell  them  there  will  be  no  sitting  to-night,"  said  the 
Consul-General. 


THE    DAWN  527 

A  little  later  there  was  yet  another  knock  at  the  door. 
It  was  the  Secretary  again.  The  Adviser  to  the  Ministry 
of  the  Interior  had  called  him  up  on  the  telephone  to  say 
that,  according  to  instructions,  the  gallows  had  been  set  up 
in  the  Square  in  front  of  the  Governorat,  and  now  he 
wished  to  know 

"  Tell  the  men  to  take  it  down  again  at  once,  and  don't 
come  up  again,"  said  the  Consul-General  in  a  %'oice  that 
was  hoarse  with  wrath  and  thick  with  shame. 

These  interruptions  had  been  like  visitations  of  the  spir- 
its of  the  dead  to  a  murderer  who  had  killed  them,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  the  Consul-General  could  bring  his 
mind  back  to  the  mystery  before  him.  When  he  was  able 
to  do  so  he  asked  himself  how  it  had  come  to  pass  that  if 
Gordon  had  been  in  Khartoum,  and  if  he  had  been  duped 
into  taking  Ishmael's  place,  Helena  had  not  informed  him 
of  The  change?  Where  had  she  been?  Where  was  she  now? 
What  had  become  of  her?  Could  it  be  possible  that  she,  too, 
by  her  love  for  Gordon,  had  been  won  over  to  the  side  of 
his  enemies? 

Thinking  of  that  as  a  possible  explanation  of  the  devil- 
ish tangle  of  circumstance  by  which  he  was  surrounded,  the 
Consul-General's  wrath  against  Gordon  rose  to  a  frenzy  of 
madness.  Fierce  and  wild  imprecations  broke  from  his 
mouth,  such  as  had  never  passed  his  lips  before,  and  then, 
suddenly  remembering  that  they  were  directed  against  his 
own  flesh  and  blood,  his  own  son,  he  cried,  in  the  midst  of 
his  fury  and  passion  : 

"  No,  no !    God  forgive  me !    Not  that !  " 

Ibrahim  knocked  at  the  door  again.  The  Grand  Cadi 
had  come,  and  begged  the  inestimable  privilege  of  approach- 
ing his  Excellency's  honorable  person. 

"  Say  I  can't  see  him,"  said  the  Consul-General,  and  then, 
sitting  down  on  a  sofa  in  an  alcove  of  the  room,  he  tried 
his  best  to  compose  himself. 

In  the  silence  of  the  next  few  minutes  he  was  conscious, 
of  the  ticking  of  the  telegraph  tape  that  was  unrolling  itself 
by  his  side,  and,  to  relieve  his  mind  of  the  burden  that  op- 
pressed it,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  long  white  slip. 


528  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

It  reported  a  debate  on  the  Address  to  the  Crown,  at  the 
opening  of  a  new  session  of  Parliament.  Somebody,  a  rabid, 
irresponsible  Radical,  had  proposed  as  an  Amendment  that 
"  the  time  had  come  to  associate  the  people  of  Egypt  in  the 
government  of  the  countrj^"  and  the  Foreign  Minister  was 
making  his  reply, 

"  This  much  I  am  willing  to  admit,"  said  the  Minister, 
^'  that  there  are  two  cardinal  errors  in  the  governing  of  alien 
races — to  rule  them  as  if  thoy  were  Englishmen,  and  to  re- 
press their  aspirations  by  blowing  them  out  of  the  mouth  of 
a  gun." 

The  Consul-General  rose  to  his  feet  in  a  new  flood  of 
anger.  But  for  Gordon  he  would  have  silenced  all  such  bab- 
bling. To-morrow  morning  was  to  have  seen  Downing 
Street  in  confusion,  and  in  the  conflagration  that  was  to 
have  blazed  heaven-high  on  the  report  of  the  Egyptian  con- 
spiracy and  how  he  had  crushed  it,  he  was  to  have  found 
himself  the  saviour  of  civilisation. 

But  now — what  now?  Duped  by  his  own  son,  who  had 
taken  sides  against  him,  he  was  about  to  become  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  all  Europe. 

"Fool!  Fool!  Fool!"  he  cried,  and  in  the  cruel  riot  of 
anger  and  love  that  was  going  on  within  him  he  felt  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  as  if  he  wanted  to  burst  into  tears. 

Another  knock  came  to  the  door.  It  was  Ibrahim  again, 
to  say  that  the  Grand  Cadi,  who  sent  his  humble  salaams, 
had  said  he  would  wait,  and  now  the  Sirdar  had  come  and  he 
wished  to  see  his  Excellency  immediately. 

"  Tell  the  Sirdar  I  can  see  no  one  to-night,"  said  the 
Consul-General. 

"  But  his  Excellency  says  his  business  is  urgent,  and  he 
must  come  upstairs  if  your  Excellency  will  not  come  down." 

The  Consul-General  reflected  for  a  moment  and  then 
replied : 

"  Tell  the  Sirdar  I  will  be  down  presently." 


THE    DAWN  529 


VII 

Besides  the  Grand  Cadi  with  his  pockmarked  checks  and 
base  eyes,  and  the  Sirdar  with  his  ruddy  face  (suddenly 
gro%vn  sallow),  the  plump  person  of  the  Commandant  of 
Police  was  waiting  in  the  library. 

The  Grand  Cadi  in  his  turban  and  silk  robes  sat  in  the 
extreme  corner  of  the  room,  opposite  to  the  desk;  the  Sirdar, 
in  his  full-dress  uniform,  stood  squarely  on  the  hearth-rug 
with  his  back  to  the  empty  fireplace;  and  the  Commandant, 
in  his  gold-braided  blue,  stood  near  to  the  door. 

No  one  spoke.  There  was  a  tense  silence,  such  as  per- 
vades a  surgeon's  consulting  room  immediately  before  a 
serious  operation. 

When  the  Consul-General  came  in,  still  wearing  his  court- 
dress,  it  was  plainly  apparent  to  those  who  had  seen  him  as 
recently  as  half  an  hour  before  that  he  was  a  changed  man. 
Although  perfectly  self-possessed  and  as  firm  and  implacable 
as  ever,  there  was  an  indefinable  something  about  his  eyes, 
his  mouth,  and  his  square  jaw  which  seemed  to  say  that  he 
had  gone  through  a  great  struggle  with  his  own  heart  and 
conquered  it — perhaps  killed  it — and  that  henceforth  his 
affections  were  to  be  counted  as  dead. 

The  Sirdar  saw  this  at  a  glance,  and  thereby  realised  the 
measure  of  what  he  had  come  to  do.  He  had  come  to  fight 
this  father  for  his  own  son. 

Answering  the  salute  of  the  Commandant,  the  salutation 
of  the  Sirdar  and  the  salaam  of  the  Cadi  with  the  curtest 
bow,  the  old  man  stepped  forward  to  his  desk,  and  seating 
himself  in  the  revolving  chair  behind   it,   said  brusquely: 

"  Well,  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 

"  Nuneham,"  said  the  Sirdar,  with  an  oblique  glance 
in  the  direction  of  the  Cadi,  "  the  Commandant  and  I  wish 
to  speak  to  you  in  private  on  a  personal  and  urgent 
subject." 

"Does  it  concern  my  son?"  asked  the  Consul-General 
sharply. 

"  I  do  not  say  it  concerns  your  son,"  said  the  Sirdar,  with 


530  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

another  oblique  glance  at  the  Cadi.  "  I  only  say  it  is  per- 
sonal and  urgent  and  therefore  ought  to  be  discussed  in 
private." 

"  Humph !  We'll  discuss  it  here.  I'll  have  no  secrets  on 
that  subject." 

"In  that  case,"  said  the  Sirdar,  "you  must  take  the 
consequences." 

"  Go  on,  please." 

"  In  the  first  jjlace  the  Commandant  finds  himself  in  a 
predicament." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  warrant  he  holds  is  for  the  arrest  of  Ishmael 
Ameer,  but  the  prisoner  he  has  taken  to-night  is — an- 
other person." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  The  Commandant  wishes  to  know  what  he  is  to  do? " 

"  What  is  it  his  duty  to  do?  " 

"  That  depends  on  circumstances,  and  the  circumstances 
in  the  present  case  are  peculiar." 

"  State  them  precisely,  please." 

The  Sirdar  hesitated,  glanced  again  at  the  Cadi,  this 
time  with  an  expression  of  obvious  repugnance,  and  then 
said : 

"  The  peculiar  circumstances  in  this  case  are,  my  dear 
Xuneham,  that  though  the  prisoner  cannot  possibly  be  held 
under  the  warrant  by  which  he  was  arrested,  he  is  wanted 
by  the  military  courts  for  other  offences." 

"  Therefore " 

"  Therefore  the  Commandant  has  come  with  me  to  ask 
you  whether  the  man  he  has  taken  to-night  is  to  be  handed 
over  to  the  military  authorities  or " 

"Or  what?" 

"  Or  allowed  to  go  free," 

The  Consul-General  swung  his  chair  round  until  he  came 
face  to  face  with  the  Sirdar,  and  said  with  withering  bit- 
ternesss : 

"  So  you  have  come  to  rae — British  Agent  and  Consul- 
General — to  ask  if  I  will  connive  at  your  prisoner's  escape ! 
Is  that  it?" 


THE    DAWN  531 

The  Sirdar  flinched,  bit  the  ends  of  his  moustache  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said,  with  a  faint  tremor  in  his  voice : 

"  Nuneham,  if  the  prisoner  is  handed  over  to  the  authori- 
ties he  will  be  court-martialled." 

"  Let  it  be  so,"  said  the  Consul-General. 

"  As  surely  as  he  is  court-martialled  his  sentence  will  be 
death." 

The  old  man  swung  his  chair  back  and  answered  huskily : 
"  If  his  offences  deserve  it,  what  matter  is  that  to  me? " 

"  Ilis  offences,"  said  the  Sirdar,  "  were  insubordination, 
refusal  to  obey  the  orders  of  his  general  and " 

"  Isn't  that  enough  ?  "  asked  the  Consul-General,  where- 
upon the  Sirdar  drew  himself  up  and  said : 

"  I  plead  no  excuses  for  insubordination.  I  am  myself  a 
soldier.  I  think  discipline  is  the  backbone  of  the  army. 
Without  that  everything'  must  go  to  chaos.  But  the  general 
who  exacts  stern  compliance  with  military  discipline  on  the 
part  of  his  officers  has  it  for  his  sacred  duty  to  see  that  his 
commands  are  just  and  that  he  does  not  provoke  disobedi- 
ence by  outrageous  and  illegal  insults." 

The  old  man's  face  twitched  visibly,  but  still  he  stood 
firm. 

"  Provoked  or  not  provoked,  your  prisoner  disobeyed  the 
orders  of  his  recognised  superior — what  more  is  there  to 
8ay?" 

"  Only  that  he  acted  from  a  sense  of  right,  and  that  he 
was  right " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  say  he  ^vas  right,  as  subsequent  events  proved,  and  if 
his  conscience " 

"  Conscience !  What  has  a  soldier  to  do  with  conscience  ? 
My  servant  Ibrahim,  perhaps,  any  fellah,  may  have  a  right 
to  exercise  what  he  is  pleased  to  call  his  conscience,  but  the 
first  and  only  duty  of  an  English  soldier  is  to  obey." 

"  Then  God  help  England !  If  an  English  soldier  is  only 
a  machine,  a  human  gun-waggon,  with  no  right  to  think 
about  anything  but  his  rations  and  his  pay,  and  how  to  use 
his  rifle,  he  is  a  butcher  and  a  hireling — not  a  hero.  No,  no, 
some  of  the  greatest  soldiers  and  sailors  have  resisted  au- 


532  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

thority  when  authority  has  been  in  the  wrong.  Nelson  did 
it  and  General  Gordon  did  it,  and  if  this  one " 

But  the  old  man  burst  out  again  in  a  quivering  voice : 

"  Why  do  you  come  to  tell  me  this  ?  What  has  it  got  to 
do  with  me  ?  The  case  before  us  is  perfectly  clear.  By  some 
tangle  and  devilish  circumstances  the  wrong  man  has  been 
arrested  to-night.  But  your  prisoner  is  wanted  by  the  mili- 
tary authorities  for  other  offences.  Very  well,  let  him  be 
handed  over  to  them." 

The  Sirdar  now  saw  that  he  had  not  only  to  fight  the 
father  for  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  but  the  man  for  himself. 
He  looked  across  the  room  to  where  the  Grand  Cadi  sat  in 
smug  silence,  but  his  clawlike  hands  clasped  before  his 
breast,  and  then,  as  if  taking  a  last  chance,  he  said: 

"  Nuneham,  the  prisoner  is  your  son." 

"  All  the  more  reason  why  I  should  treat  him  as  I  should 
treat  anybody  else." 

"  Your  only  son." 

"  Humph !  " 

"  If  anything  happens  to  him — if  he  dies  before  you — 
your  family  will  come  to  an  end  when  you  are  gone." 

The  old  man  trembled.  The  Sirdar  was  cutting  him  in 
the  tenderest  place — ploughing  deep  into  his  lifelong  secret. 

"  Your  name  will  be  wiped  out.  You  will  have  wiped  it 
out,  Nuneham." 

The  old  man  was  shaking  like  a  rock  which  vibrates  in 
an  earthquake.  To  steady  his  nerves  he  took  a  pen  and 
held  it  firmly  in  the  fingers  of  both  hands. 

"  If  you  tell  the  Commandant  to  hand  him  over  to  the 
military  authorities,  it  will  be  the  same  in  the  court  of  your 
conscience  as  if  you  had  done  it.  You  will  have  cut  off  your 
own  line." 

The  old  man  fought  hard  with  himself.  It  was  a  fear- 
ful struggle. 

"  More  than  that,  it  will  be  the  same — it  will  be  the  same 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it — as  if  with  that  pen  in  your 
hands  you  had  signed  your  own  son's  death-warrant." 

The  pen  dropped,  as  if  it  had  been  red  hot,  from  the  old 
man's  trembling  fingers.     Still  he  struggled. 


THE    DAWN  533 

"  If  my  son  is  a  guilty  man,  let  the  law  deal  with  him 
as  it  would  deal  with  any  other,"  he  said,  but  his  voice  shook 
— it  could  scarcely  sustain  itself. 

The  Sirdar  saw  that  deep  under  the  frozen  surface,  the 
heart  of  the  old  man  was  breaking  up;  he  knew  that  the  shot 
that  killed  Gordon  would  kill  the  Consul-General  also,  and 
he  felt  that  he  was  now  pleading  for  the  life  of  the  father 
as  well  as  of  the  son. 

"  It's  not  as  if  the  boy  were  a  prodigal,  a  wastrel,"  he 
said.  "  He  is  a  gentleman,  every  inch  of  him,  and  if  he  has 
gone  wrong,  if  he  has  acted  improperly,  it  has  only  been 
from  the  highest  impulses.  He  has  sincerity  and  he  has 
courage,  and  they  are  the  noblest  virtues  of  the  soul." 

The  old  man's  head  was  down,  but  he  was  conscious  that 
the  Cadi's  cruel  eyes  were  upon  him. 

"  He's  a  soldier,  too.  In  some  respects  the  finest  young 
soldier  in  the  army,  whoever  the  next  may  be.  He  saw  his 
first  fighting  with  me,  I  remember.  It  was  at  Omdurman. 
He  had  taken  the  Khalifa's  flag.  The  dervish  who  carried 
it  had  treacherously  stabbed  his  comrade,  and  when  he  came 
up  with  fire  and  tears  in  his  eyes  together,  he  said,  '  I  killed 
him  like  a  dog,  sir.'  *  My  God,'  I  said  to  myself,  *  here  is  a 
soldier  born.' " 

The  old  man  was  silent,  but  he  was  still  conscious  that 
the  Cadi's  cruel  eyes  were  upon  him,  watching  him,  inter- 
rogating him,  saying,  "  What  will  you  do  now,  I  wonder  ? " 

"  God  has  never  given  me  a  son,"  continued  the  Sirdar, 
"  but  from  that  day  to  this  I  have  always  felt  as  if  that  boy 
belonged  also  to  myself." 

The  old  man  was  breaking  up  rapidly,  but  still  he  would 
not  yield. 

"  His  mother  loved  him,  too.  Perhaps  he  was  the  only 
human  thing  that  came  between  her  and  her  God.  She  is 
dead,  and  they  say  the  dead  see  all.  Who  knows,  JSTuneham  ? 
— she  may  be  waiting  now  to  find  out  what  you  are  going 
to  do." 

The  strain  was  terrible.  The  two  old  friends,  one  visibly 
moved  and  making  no  effort  to  conceal  his  emotion,  the 
other  fighting  hard  with  the  dark  spirits  of  pride  and  wrath. 


534  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

The  Sirdar's  mind  went  back  to  the  days  when  they  were 
young  men  themselves,  at  Sandhurst  together,  and  approach- 
ing the  Consul-General  he  put  one  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
said: 

"  Nuncham — John  iSTuneham — John — Jack — give  the  boy 
another  chance.     Let  him  go." 

Then  with  a  cry  of  agony  and  with  an  oath,  never  heard 
from  his  lips  before,  the  Consul-General  rose  from  his  seat 
and  said : 

"  No,  no,  no !  You  come  here  asking  me  to  put  my 
honour  into  the  hands  of  my  enemies — to  leave  myself  at 
the  mercy  of  any  scoundrel  who  cares  to  say  that  the  meas- 
ure I  mete  out  to  others  is  not  that  which  I  keep  for  my 
own.  You  come,  too,  excusing  my  son's  offences  against 
military  law,  but  saying  nothing  of  the  other  crimes  in 
which  you  have  this  very  night  caught  him  red-handed." 

After  that  he  smote  the  desk  with  his  clenched  fist  and 
cried : 

"  No,  no,  I  tell  you  no !  My  son  is  a  traitor.  He  has 
joined  himself  to  his  father's  and  his  country's  enemies  in 
order  to  destroy  him  and  to  destroy  England  in  Egypt,  and 
if  the  punishment  of  a  traitor  is  death,  then  death  it  must 
be  to  him  as  to  any  other,  that  the  same  justice  may  be  dealt 
out  to  all." 

Then  to  the  Commandant,  who  was  still  standing  by  the 
door,  he  said: 

"  Go,  sir!  Let  your  prisoner  be  handed  over  to  the  mili- 
tary authorities  without  one  moment's  further  delay." 

It    was    like   the   moment    of    the    breaking    of   an    ava- 
lanche,   and    after    it    there    came    the    same    awful    still- 
ness.    No  one  spoke.     The  Commandant  bowed  and  left  the 
room. 

The  Consul-General  returned  to  his  seat  at  the  desk, 
and,  digging  his  elbows  into  the  blotting-pad,  rested  his  head 
on  his  hands.  The  Sirdar  stood  sideways  with  one  arm  on 
the  chimney-piece.  The  Cadi  sat  in  liis  smug  silence  with 
his  claw-like  hands  still  clasped  in  front  of  his  breast. 

They  heard  the  Commandant's  heavy  step  and  the  click 
of  his  sjiurs  as  he  walked  across  the  marble  floor  of  the  hall. 


THE    DAWN  535 

They  heard  the  front  door  close  with  a  bang.  Still  no  one 
spoke  and  the  silence  seemed  to  be  everlasting. 

Then  they  heard  the  outer  bell  ringing  loudly.  They 
hoard  the  front  door  opened  and  then  closed  again,  as  if 
after  admitting  somebody.  At  the  next  moment  Ibrahim, 
looking  as  if  he  had  just  seen  a  ghost,  had  come,  with  his 
slippered  feet,  into  the  library,  and  was  stammering: 

"  If  you  please,  your  Excellency — if  you  please,  your 
Ex " 

"  Speak  out,  you  fool — who  is  it  ? "  said  the  Consul- 
General. 

"  It  is — it  is  Miss — Miss  Helena,  your  Excellency." 

The  Consul-General's  face  contracted  for  an  instant,  as 
if  he  were  trying  to  recover  the  plain  sense  of  where  he  was 
and  what  was  going  on.  Then  he  rose  and  went  out  of  the 
room,  Ibrahim  following  him. 

The  Sirdar  and  the  Grand  Cadi  were  left  together.  They 
did  not  speak  or  exchange  a  sign.  The  Sirdar  felt  that  the 
Cadi's  presence  had  contributed  to  the  late  painful  scene — 
that  it  had  been  a  silent,  subtle  devilish  influence  against 
Gordon — and  he  was  conscious  of  an  almost  unconquerable 
desire  to  take  the  man  by  the  throat  and  wring  his  neck  as  he 
would  wring  the  neck  of  a  bird  of  prey. 

Quarter  of  an  hour  passed.  Half  an  hour.  Still  the  two 
men  did  not  speak.    And  the  Consul-General  did  not  return. 


VIII 

Meantime  Helena,  in  another  room,  still  wearing  her 
mixed  Eastern  and  Western  dress,  was  sitting  by  a  table  in 
an  attitude  of  supplication,  with  her  arms  outstretched  and 
her  hands  clasped  across  a  corner  of  it,  speaking  earnestly 
and  rapidly  to  the  Consul-General,  who  was  standing  with 
head  down  in  front  of  her. 

Pale,  in  spite  of  the  heat  of  the  South  and  the  sun  of  the 
desert,  very  nervous,  flurried,  and  a  little  ashamed,  yet  with 
a  sense  of  urgent  necessity,  she  was  telling  him  all  that  had 
happened  since  she  left  Cairo — how  she  had  gone  to  Khar- 


536  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

toum  under  an  impulse  of  revenge  that  was  inspired  by  a 
mistaken  idea  of  the  cause  of  her  father's  death;  how,  being 
there,  she  had  been  compelled  to  accept  the  position  of  Ish- 
mael's  nominal  wife  or  go  back  with  her  errand  unfulfilled; 
how  she  had  come  to  know  of  the  base  proposals  of  certain 
of  the  Ulema;  and  how,  at  length,  when  Ishmael  had  suc- 
cumbed to  the  last  of  them,  she  had  written  and  despatched 
her  letter  saying  he  was  coming  into  Cairo  in  disguise. 

Then  in  her  soft  voice,  with  its  deep  note,  she  told  of 
Gordon's  arrival  in  Khartoum,  of  his  own  tragic  mistake 
and  awful  sufferings,  of  his  confession  to  her,  of  her  con- 
fesssion  to  him,  and  of  how  she  realised  her  error,  but  found 
herself  powerless  to  overtake  or  undo  it. 

Finally  she  told  the  Consul-General  of  Gordon's  determi- 
nation to  take  Ishmael's  place,  being  impelled  to  do  so  by 
the  firmest  conviction  that  his  father  was  being  deceived  by 
some  one  in  Cairo,  by  the  certainty  that  Ishmael  could  not 
otherwise  be  moved  from  his  fanatical  purpose,  and  that 
while  the  consequences  of  his  own  arrest  must  be  merely 
personal  to  himself,  the  result  of  Ishmael's  death  at  the 
hands  of  the  authorities  might  be  a  holy  war,  which  would 
put  Egypt  in  the  right  and  England  in  the  wrong  and  cover 
his  father's  honoured  name  with  infamy. 

The  old  man  listened  eagerly,  standing  as  long  as  he 
could  on  the  same  spot,  then  walking  to  and  from  with  ner- 
vous and  irregular  steps,  but  stopping  at  intervals  as  if 
breathless  from  an  overpow^ering  sense  of  the  presence  of  the 
hand  of  fate. 

Having  finished  her  story,  Helena  produced  Gordon's 
letters  from  the  little  handbag  which  hung  from  one  of 
her  arms,  and  having  kissed  them,  as  if  the  Consul-General 
had  not  been  present,  she  began  with  panting  affection  to 
read  passages  from  them  in  proof  of  what  she  had  said. 

Being  a  woman,  she  knew  by  instinct  what  to  read  first, 
and  one  by  one  came  the  passionate  words  which  told  of 
Gordon's  affection  for  the  father  whom  he  felt  bound  to 
resist. 

"  My  father,"  she  read,  "  is  a  great  man  who  probably 
does  not  need  and  would  certainly  resent  my  compassion. 


THE    DAWN  537 

but  Lord  God,  how  I  pity  him!  Deceived  by  false  friends, 
alone  in  his  old  age,  after  all  he  has  done  for  Egypt !  " 

The  old  man  stopped  her  and  said : 

"  But  how  did  he  know  that — that  I  was  being  deceived? 
What  right  had  he  to  say  so?" 

"  Listen,"  said  Helena,  and  she  read  Gordon's  account  of 
his  visit  to  the  Grand  Cadi,  when  the  "  oily  scoundrel "  had 
called  his  father  "  the  slave  of  power,"  "  the  evil-doer,"  "  the 
adventurer,"  and  "  the  great  assassin." 

"  Then  why  didn't  he  come  like  a  man  and  tell  me  him- 
self?" asked  the  Consul-General. 

"  Listen  again,  sir,"  said  Helena,  and  she  read  what 
Gordon  had  said  of  his  impulse  to  go  to  his  father,  in  order 
to  disclose  the  Grand  Cadi's  duplicity,  and  then  of  the  rea- 
sons restraining  him,  being  sure  that  his  father  was  aiming 
at  a  coup  and  that  acting  from  a  high  sense  of  duty  the 
Consul-General  would  hand  him  over  to  the  military 
authorities  before  the  work  he  had  come  to  do  had  been 
done. 

"  But  didn't  he  see  what  he  was  doing  himself — aiding 
and  abetting  a  conspiracy?" 

"  Listen  once  more,  please,"  said  Helena,  and  she  read 
what  Gordon  had  said  of  Ishmael's  pilgrimage — that  while 
his  father  thought  the  Prophet  was  bringing  up  an  armed 
force,  he  was  merely  leading  a  vast  multitude  of  religious 
visionaries,  who  were  expecting  to  establish  in  Cairo  a  mil- 
lennium of  universal  faith  and  empire. 

"But,  even  so,  was  it  necessary  to  do  what  he  did?" 
demanded  the  Consul-General. 

"  Listen  for  the  last  time,  sir,"  said  Helena,  and  then  in 
her  soft,  earnest,  pleading  voice,  she  read: 

"  It  is  necessary  to  prevent  the  massacre  which  I  know 
(and  my  father  does  not)  would  inevitably  ensue;  necessary 
to  save  my  father  himself  from  the  execration  of  the  civ- 
ilised world ;  necessary  to  save  Ishmael  from  the  tragic  con- 
sequences of  his  determined  fanaticism;  necessary  to  save 
England " 

"  Give  them  to  me,"  said  the  Consul-General,  taking — 
almost  snatching — the  letters  out  of  Helena's  hands  in  the 


538  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

fierce  nervous  tension  which  left  him  no  time  to  think  of 
courtesies. 

Then  drawing  a  chair  up  to  the  table,  and  fixing  his  eye- 
glasses over  his  spectacles,  he  turned  the  pages  one  by  one 
and  read  passages  here  and  there.  Helena  watched  him 
while  he  did  so,  and  in  the  changing  expression  of  the 
hitherto  hard,  immobile,  implacable  face,  she  saw  the  effect 
that  was  being  produced. 

"  I  cannot  say  how  hard  it  is  to  me  to  be  engaged  in 
a  secret  means  to  frustrate  my  father's  plans — it  is  like  fight- 
ing one's  own  flesh  and  blood  and  is  not  fair  warfare  .  .  . 

"  Neither  can  I  say  what  a  struggle  it  has  been  to  me 
as  an  English  soldier  to  make  up  my  mind  to  intercept  an 
order  of  the  British  Army — it  is  like  playing  traitor  and  I 
can  scarcely  bear  to  think  of  it  .  .  . 

"But  all  the  same  I  know  it  is  necessary.  I  also  know 
God  knows  it  is  necessary,  and  when  I  think  of  that  my 
heart  beats  wildly  .  .  . 

"  I  am  willing  to  give  my  life  for  England,  whatever 
name  she  may  know  me  by  .  .  .  and  I  am  willing  to  die  for 
these  poor  Egyptians,  because  .  .  . 

"  This  may  be  the  last  letter  I  shall  write  to  you  .  .  . 

"  May  the  great  God  of  Heaven  bless  and  protect 
you  .  .  ." 

The  Consul-General  was  overwhelmed.  The  Grand  Cadi's 
duplicity  stifled  him,  Ishmael's  innocence  of  conspiracy 
humiliated  him,  but  his  son's  heroism  crushed  him  and  made 
him  feel  like  a  little  man. 

Yet  ho  had  just  now  denounced  his  son  as  a  traitor, 
handed  him  over  to  the  military  authorities,  and,  in  effect, 
condemned  him  to  death  ! 

As  the  old  man  read  Gordon's  letters  his  iron  face 
seemed  to  decompose.  Helena  could  not  bear  to  look  at  him 
any  longer,  and  she  had  to  turn  her  own  face  away.  At 
length  she  became  conscious  that  he  had  ceased  to  read, 
and  that  his  great,  sad,  humid  eyes  were  looking  at  her. 

"  So  you  came  here  to  plead  with  me  for  the  life  of  my 
l»oy?"  he  said,  and,  as  well  as  she  could  for  the  tears  that 
were  choking  her  she  answered : 


THE    DAWN  539 

"  Yes." 

lie  hesitated  for  a  moment,  as  if  trying  to  summon 
courage  to  tell  her  something,  and  then,  in  a  voice  that 
was  quite  unlike  his  own,  he  said: 

"  Permit  to  take  these  letters  away  for  a  few  minutes." 

And  rising  unsteadily  he  left  the  room. 


IX 

When  the  Consul-General  returned  to  the  library  he 
looked  like  a  feeble  old  man  of  ninety.  It  was  just  as  if 
twenty  years  of  his  life  had  been  struck  out  of  him  in  half 
an  hour.     The  Sirdar  stepped  up  to  him  in  alarm,  saying: 

"What  has  happened?" 

"  Read  these,"  he  answered,  handing  to  the  Sirdar  the 
letters  he  carried  in  his  hand. 

The  Sirdar  took  the  letters  aside,  and  standing  by  the 
chimney-piece  he  looked  at  them.  While  he  did  so  his  face, 
which  had  hitherto  been  grave  and  pale,  became  bright  and 
ruddy,  and  he  uttered  little  sharp  cries  of  joy. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  he  said.  "  Although  I  was  at  a  loss  to 
read  the  riddle  of  Gordon's  presence  at  Ghezirah  I  knew 
there  must  be  some  explanation.  If  he  had  acted  with  a 
sense  of  conscience  in  the  one  case  he  must  have  done  so 
in  the  other.  .  .  .  Thank  God!  Splendid!  Bravo!  ...  Of 
course,  you  will  stop  the  Commandant  ?  " 

The  Consul-General,  who  had  returned  to  his  seat  at 
the  desk,  did  not  reply,  and  the  Sirdar,  thinking  to  anticipate 
his  objection,  said  eagerly: 

"  Why  not  ?  The  Commandant  will  act  as  for  himself 
and  nobody  will  know  that  you  have  been  consulted.  .  .  . 
That  is  to  say,"  he  added,  with  another  oblique  glance  in 
the  direction  of  the  Grand  Cadi,  "  nobody  outside  this  room, 
and  if  anybody  here  should  ever  whisper  a  word  about  it  I'll 
— I'll — well,  never  mind;  nobody  will,  nobody  dare." 

Then  in  the  fever  of  his  impatience  the  Sirdar  proposed 
to  call  up  the  Commandant  of  Police  on  the  telephone  and 
tell  him  to  consider  his  order  cancelled. 


540  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Don't  stir,"  he  said.  "  I'll  do  it.  Your  Secretary  will 
show  me  the  box." 

When,  with  a  light  step  and  a  hopeful  face,  the  Sirdar 
had  gone  out  of  the  room  on  this  errand  the  Cadi  began  for 
the  first  time  to  show  signs  of  life.  He  coughed,  cleared  his 
throat,  and  made  other  noises  indicative  of  a  desire  to 
speak,  but  the  Consul-General,  still  sitting  at  the  desk  with 
the  look  of  a  shattered  man,  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  his 
presence.  At  length  he  said,  in  that  hushed  voice  of  one 
who  was  habitually  afraid  of  being  overheard : 

"  I  regret — sincerely  regret — that  I  have  been  again 
compelled  to  approach  your  Excellency's  honourable  person 
— especially  at  a  time  like  this — but  a  certain  danger — per- 
sonal danger — made  me  think  that  perhaps  your  Excellency 
would  deign " 

Before  he  could  say  any  more  the  Sirdar  had  returned 
to  the  library  with  a  long  face  and  a  slow  step. 

"  Too  late !  "  he  said.  "  I  called  up  the  Commandant  at 
his  office  and  they  said  he  had  gone  to  the  Citadel.  Then  I 
called  him  up  there,  thinking  I  might  still  be  in  time.  But 
no,  the  thing  was  over.     Gordon  was  under  arrest." 

After  that  there  was  silence  for  some  moments  while  the 
Sirdar  looked  again  at  the  letters  which  he  was  still  holding 
in  his  hands.  At  one  moment  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  turning 
to  the  Consul-General  he  said: 

''You'll  not  call  down  the  troops  from  Abbassiah?" 

"  No." 

"  And  you'll  allow  this  man  Ishmael  and  his  visionary 
followers  to  come  into  Cairo  if  they've  a  mind  to? " 

The  Consul-General  bent  his  head. 

"  Good !  "  said  the  Sirdar.  "  At  all  events,  that  will  shut 
the  mouths  of  the  fine  birds  who  must  be  getting  ready  to 
crow." 

But  a  look  of  alarm  came  into  the  Grand  Cadi's  eyes, 
such  as  comes  into  the  eyes  of  a  hawk  when  an  eagle  is 
about  to  pounce  upon  it. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  "  his  Excellency  does  not  intend  to 
allow  this  horde  of  fifty  thousand  fanatics  to  pour  them- 
selves into  the  Capital?" 


THE    DAWN  541 

Whereupon  the  Sirdar  turned  sharply  upon  the  man  and 
answered : 

"  That  is  exactly  what  his  Excellency  does  intend  to 
do." 

"  But  what  is  to  become  of  me?  "  asked  the  Cadi.  "  This 
is  exactly  the  errand  I  came  upon.  Already  the  people  are 
threatening  me,  and  I  came  to  ask  for  protection.  I  am  sus- 
pected of  giving  information  to  his  Excellency.  Will  his 
Excellency  desert  me — leave  me  to  the  mercy  of  this  man 
Ishmael,  this  corrupter  and  destroyer  of  the  faith  ?  " 

Then  the  Consul-General,  who  had  sat  with  head  down, 
the  picture  of  despair,  rose  to  his  full  height  and  faced  the 
Grand  Cadi. 

"  Listen,"  he  said,  with  a  flash  of  his  old  fire.  "  I  give 
your  Eminence  twenty-four  hours  to  leave  Egypt.  If  the 
people  do  not  dispose  of  you  after  that  time,  as  sure  as  there 
is  a  British  Minister  in  Constantinople,  /  will." 

The  look  of  alarm  in  the  Cadi's  cunning  face  was  smitten 
into  an  expression  of  terror.  Not  a  word  more  did  he  say. 
One  glance  he  gave  at  the  letters  in  the  Sirdar's  hands,  and 
then  rising,  with  a  low  bow  and  touching  his  breast  and 
forehead,  he  turned  to  leave  the  room.  Meantime  the  Sirdar 
had  rung  the  bell  for  Ibrahim,  and  then  stepping  to  the  door 
he  had  oi>ened  it.  The  ample  folds  of  the  Cadi's  sleeves 
swelled  as  he  walked  and  he  passed  out  like  a  human  bat. 

Being  alone  with  the  Sirdar  the  Consul-General's  mind 
went  back  to  Helena. 

"  Poor  child  I  "  he  said.  "  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  tell  her 
what  I  had  done.  Go  to  her,  Reg.  She's  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Give  her  back  her  letters  and  tell  her  what  has  hap- 
pened. Then  take  her  to  the  Princess  Nazimah.  Poor  girl ! 
Poor  Gordon ! " 

The  Sirdar  made  some  effort  to  comfort  him,  but  it  was 
hard  to  say  anything  now  to  the  man  who  in  the  days  of  his 
strength  had  hated  all  forms  of  sentimentality.  Yet  the 
shadow  of  supernatural  powers  seemed  to  be  over  him,  for 
he  muttered  some  simple,  almost  childlike  words  about  the 
Almighty  permitting  him  to  fall  because  he  had  wandered 
away  from  Him. 


542  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Janet !  My  poor  Janet !  "  he  murmured,  his  once  proud 
head  hung  low. 

The  Sirdar  could  bear  no  more,  and  he  quietly  left  the 
library. 

As  he  approached  the  drawing-room  he  heard  voices 
within.  Fatimah  was  with  Helena.  All  the  mother-heart  in 
the  Eg\-ptian  woman  had  warmed  to  the  girl  in  her  trouble, 
and  forgetful  of  the  difference  of  class,  they  were  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms. 

The  Sirdar  could  see  by  the  tears  that  were  trickling 
down  Helena's  cheeks  that  already  she  knew  evei*ything,  but 
all  the  same  he  told  her  that  Gordon  had  been  handed  over 
to  the  military  authorities.  She  stood  the  fire  of  the  sad 
news  without  flinching,  and  a  few  minutes  afterward  they 
were  in  the  Sirdar's  carriage  on  their  way  to  the  Princess 
Nazimah's — the  black  boy  on  his  donkey  trotting  proudly 
behind. 

"  We  must  not  lose  heart,  though,"  said  the  Sirdar. 
"  Now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  to  be  court -martialled  may 
be  the  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  him.  He'll  have  a 
good  deal  to  say  for  himself.  And  whatever  the  sentence  may 
be,  there's  the  Army  Council,  and  there's  the  Secretary  of 
State,  and  there's  the  King  himself,  you  know." 

"  Then  you  think  there's  some  hope  still,"  she  said 
faintly  but  sweetly. 

"  I'm  certain  there  is,"  said  the  Sirdar,  and  as  the  car- 
riage passed  under  the  electric  arc  lamps  in  the  streets  he 
could  see  that  Helena's  wet  eyes  were  shining. 

After  a  while  she  asked  where  Gordon  was  imprisoned, 
and  was  told  that  he  was  at  the  Citadel,  but  that  he  was  in 
officer's  quarters  and  that  his  Egyptian  foster-brother,  Hafiz 
Ahmed,  was  permitted  to  be  with  him. 

Then  she  asked  if  Ishmael  and  his  people  would  be  per- 
mitted to  come  into  Cairo,  and  was  told  that  they  would, 
and  that  they  might  encamp  in  El  Azhar  if  they  cared  to — 
Ishmael  being  nothing  to  the  Sirdar  but  an  inoffensive 
dreamer  with  a  disordered  brain. 

Helena's  lovely  face  looked  almost  happy.  She  was 
thinking  of  the  light  that  was  expected  to  shine  at  midnight 


THE    DAWN  543 

from  the  minaret  of  the  mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali,  and  was 
telling-  herself  that  as  soon  as  she  reached  the  house  of  the 
Princess  she  would  call  up  Hafiz  at  the  Citadel  and  see  what 
could  be  done. 

Meantime  Fatimah,  who  had  gone  to  the  Consul-Gen- 
eral's bedroom  to  see  that  everything  was  in  order,  had  found 
something  crunching  under  her  feet,  and  picking  it  up  she 
found  that  it  was  the  portrait  of  Gordon  as  a  boy  in  his  Arab 
fez.  With  many  sighs  she  was  putting  the  pieces  aside 
when  the  old  man  entered  the  room.  He  did  not  seem  to 
see  her,  and  though  she  lingered  some  little  while  he  did 
not  speak. 

Sitting  on  the  sofa  he  rested  his  head  on  his  hands  and 
looked  fixedly  at  the  carpet  between  his  feet.  Half  an  hour 
passed — an  hour — two  hours — but  he  did  not  move.  At 
intervals  the  telegraphic  machine  which  stood  in  an  alcove 
of  the  room  ticked  for  a  time  and  then  stopped.  The  de- 
bate on  the  Amendment  to  the  Address  was  still  going  on, 
but  that  did  not  matter  now.  Nothing  mattered  except  one 
thing — that  he,  he  himself,  had  sent  his  own  son  to  his 
death,  thus  cutting  off  his  line,  ending  his  family,  and  de- 
stroying the  one  hope  and  loadstar  of  his  life. 

"  Ah,  well !  It's  all  over,"  he  thought,  and  at  length, 
switching  off  the  lights,  he  went  to  bed. 

While  the  great  Proconsul  slept  his  restless,  troubled 
sleep,  the  telegraphic  machine  ticked  out  in  the  darkness 
on  the  long  slip  of  white  paper  that  rolled  onto  the  floor  the 
future  history  of  Egypt  and  in  some  sense  of  the  world. 

Par  away  in  London  the  Foreign  Minister  was  speaking. 

"  I  am  one  of  those  who  think,"  he  was  saying,  "  that 
just  as  religious  leaders.  Popes  as  well  as  Mahdis,  may  go 
to  wreck  under  the  mental  malady  which  permits  them  to 
believe  they  are  the  mouthpieces  of  the  Almighty,  so  states- 
men may  be  destroyed  by  the  seeds  of  dissolution  which 
power,  especially  absolute  power,  carries  within  itself 

"  Holding  this  opinion,  I  also  hold  that  to  place  one 
person  in  sole  charge  of  millions  of  people  of  a  different 
race,  creed,  and  mode  of  thought,  is  to  put  a  load  on  one 
man's  shoulders  which  no  man,  whatever  his  power  and  in- 


544  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

fluence,   his    integrity    and   the    nobility    of   his    principles, 
ought  to  be  called  upon  to  bear." 

But  the  heavy-lidded  house  on  the  Nile  was  asleep.    The 
Consul-Geueral  did  not  hear. 


When  Ishmael  left  Helena's  tent  he  did  not  return  to 
his  own.  In  the  torment  of  his  soul  he  sought  the  solitude 
of  the  desert.  For  two  hours  he  walked  on  the  sand  without 
knowing  where  he  was  going.  The  night  was  dark  save  for 
an  innumerable  army  of  stars;  an  Easter  night,  still  and 
fragrant,  but  the  unhappy  man  was  wandering  in  it  like  a 
creature  accursed,  a  prey  to  the  most  terrible  upheaval  of 
the  soul,  the  most  bitter  and  sorrowful  reflections. 

His  first  thoughts  were  about  Helena — that  all  the  sweet- 
ness, all  the  loveliness  which  had  been  his  joy  by  day  and 
his  dream  by  night  belonged  not  to  him  but  to  another. 

"  I  am  nothing  to  her,"  he  told  himself,  and  greater  grief 
than  he  felt  at  that  thought  seemed  to  surpass  the  bounds 
of  possibility. 

But  there  was  worse  behind.  At  the  next  moment  of 
his  anguish  he  remembered  that  not  only  did  Helena  not 
love  him,  but  he  was  repulsive  to  her.  "  Don't  you  see  you 
are  hateful  and  odious  to  me — that  you  are  a  black  man  and 
I  am  a  white  woman  ?  " 

This  was  more  than  heartrending — it  was  physically  ex- 
cruciating, like  poison  creeping  under  the  skin.  But  it  had 
its  spiritual  torture  also.  He  who  had  built  his  life  on  the 
belief  that  the  sons  and  daughters  of  men  were  all  children 
of  one  Father,  had  found  out  in  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  within  his  own  camp,  in  his  own  tent,  that  Nature 
gave  the  lie  to  his  faith,  and  that  he— he  himself— was  only 
as  a  black  man  to  the  white  woman  whom  he  called  his  wife. 

"  I  thought  that  where  love  was  there  could  be  neither 
race  nor  colour,  but  I  was  wrong,  quite  wrong,"  he  told  him- 
self again,  and  it  seemed  as  if  everything  that  had  built  up 
his  soul  was  crumbling  away. 


'  THE    DAWN  545 

But  even  worse  than  all  this  was  the  thought  that  Helena 
had  betrayed  him — she  who  had  seemed  to  sacrifice  so  much. 
Pitiful  delusion!     Cruel  snare! 

It  was  maddening  to  think  of  the  merely  human  side  of 
his  betrayal — that  between  the  guilty  wife  and  her  lover 
he  was  only  the  husband  who  had  to  be  got  rid  of — but  the 
spiritual  aspect  was  still  more  terrible.  He  who  had  allowed 
himself  to  believe  that  he  was  specially  guided  by  God,  that 
the  Merciful  had  made  him  His  messenger,  had  been  de- 
ceived and  duped  and  was  no  more  than  a  poor,  weak,  help- 
less man  who  had  been  led  away  by  his  love  for  a  woman. 

The  shame  of  his  betrayal  was  stifling,  the  sense  of  his 
downfall  was  crushing,  but  still  more  painful  was  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  penalty  which  his  people  would  have  to 
pay  for  the  pride  and  blind  love  which  had  misled  him.  They 
had  followed  him  across  the  desert,  suffering  all  the  pains 
of  the  long  and  toilsome  journey,  buoyed  up  by  the  hopes 
with  which  he  had  inspired  them ;  they  had  trusted  and  loved 
and  looked  up  to  him,  hardly  distinguishing  between  his 
word  and  the  word  of  God,  and  now — their  leader  was  de- 
ceived, their  hopes  were  dead,  the  mirage  of  their  dreams 
had  disappeared. 

Thinking  of  this  in  the  agony  of  his  despair,  he  asked 
himself  why  God  had  permitted  it  to  come  to  pass  that  not 
himself  only  but  the  whole  body  of  his  people  should  suffer. 
"  Why,  O  God!  why? "  he  cried,  lifting  his  arms  to  the  sky. 

For  some  moments  a  cloud  passed  between  him  and  the 
faith  which  had  so  long  sustained  him.  He  began  to  regret 
his  lofty  mission  and  to  remember  with  regret  his  earlier 
days  in  Khartoum  with  the  simple  girl  who  loved  him  and 
lay  on  the  angerib  in  his  arms.  He  had  been  humble  then 
— content  to  be  a  man — and  recalling  one  by  one  the  touch- 
ing memories  of  his  life  with  Adila,  in  their  prison  bright- 
ened by  rays  of  love,  in  their  poor  desert  home,  illuminated 
more  than  a  palace  by  expectation  of  the  child  that  was  to 
come,  his  heart  failed  him  and  he  wanted  to  curse  the  des- 
tiny which  had  led  him  to  a  greatness  wherein  all  was 
vain. 

The  wild  insurrection  in  his  soul  had  left  him  no  time 


546  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

to  think  which  course  he  was  taking,  but  wandering  across 
the  Sakkara  desert  he  had  by  this  time  come  to  the  foot  of 
the  Sphinx. 

Calm,  immovable,  tremendous,  the  great  scarred  face 
was  gazing  in  passionless  meditation  into  the  luminous  star- 
light, asking,  as  it  had  asked  through  the  long  yesterday  of 
the  past,  as  it  will  continue  to  ask  through  the  long  to-mor- 
row of  the  future,  the  everlasting  question — the  question  of 
humanity,  the  question  of  all  suffering  souls. 

"  Why  \  " 

Why  should  man  aim  higher  than  he  can  reach?  Why 
should  he  give  up  the  joys  of  humanity  for  divine  dreams 
that  can  never  be  realised  ?  Why  should  he  be  a  victim  to  the 
devilish  powers,  within  and  without,  which  are  always  wait- 
ing to  betray  and  destroy  him?  Why  should  God  forsake 
him  just  when  he  is  striving  to  serve  him  most? 

"Allah!    Allah!    Why?    Why ?"  he  cried. 

But  his  higher  nature  speedily  regained  its  supremacy. 
It  came  to  him  as  a  flash  of  light  in  his  darkness  that  the 
true  explanation  of  his  downfall  was  that  God  was  punish- 
ing him  for  his  presumption  in  allowing  the  idolatry  of  his 
people  to  carry  him  away  from  his  first  humility — to  forget 
his  proper  place  as  a  man  and  to  think  of  himself  as  if  he 
were  a  god. 

This  led  him  to  thoughts  of  atonement,  and  in  a  moment 
the  image  of  death  came  to  him — his  own  death — as  a  sac- 
rifice. He  began  to  see  what  he  had  now  to  do.  He  had  to 
take  all  that  had  happened  upon  himself.  He  had  to  call 
his  people  together  and  to  say:  "  I  lied  to  you.  I  was  a  false 
prophet !  I  deceived  myself,  and  in  deceiving  myself  I  de- 
ceived you  also !  The  wonderful  world  I  promised  you — the 
Redeemer  I  foretold — all,  all  is  vain !  " 

And  then — what  then?  W^hat  of  himself — the  betrayed, 
the  betrayer?  After  he  had  parted  from  the  people  with 
their  broken  hearts,  he  would  deliver  himself  up  to  the 
authorities.  He  had  done  no  wrong  to  the  Government,  but 
he  had  sinned  against  his  followers  and  he  had  sinned 
against  God,  and  God  would  accept  the  one  punishment  for 
the  other. 


THE    DAWN  547 

Yes,  he  would  go  into  Cairo  and  say,  "  I  am  here — you 
want  me — take  me!  " 

His  regenerated  soul  saw  in  his  death  not  only  his  own 
salvation  but  the  salvation  of  his  people  also.  It  was  not 
clear  to  him  how  this  was  to  come  to  pass,  but  death  had 
always  been  a  gain  to  great  causes,  and  God  was  over  all! 

Under  this  sublime  resolution  his  heart  became  almost 
buoyant.  He  turned  to  go  back  to  the  camp,  and  as  he 
walked  he  thought  of  Helena  again.  The  tender  love  which 
had  filled  his  whole  being  for  months  could  not  be  banished 
in  an  hour,  and  he  began  to  tell  himself  that  perhaps  after 
all  she  had  not  been  to  blame.  Love  could  not  be  ruled  by 
a  rudder  like  a  boat.  The  white  woman  could  not  help  but 
love  the  white  man.  It  was  a  woman's  way  to  risk  every- 
thing, to  sacrifice  everybody,  to  commit  sin  and  even  crime 
for  the  man  she  loved— how  many  good  women  had  done  so ! 

That  was  the  temptation  to  which  the  Hani  had  suc- 
cumbed, and  he — yes,  he  also — must  submit  to  the  pains  of 
it.  They  were  hard,  they  were  cruel,  they  cut  to  the  core, 
but  with  the  idea  of  death  before  him  they  could  now  be 
borne. 

He  remembered  his  unbridled  wrath  with  the  Rani,  his 
ferocious  violence,  and  he  felt  ashamed.  It  was  almost  im- 
possible to  believe  that  he  had  really  laid  hands  upon  her 
and  tried  to  strangle  her. 

He  remembered  how  he  had  left  her,  face  down  on  the 
angerib,  in  her  misery  and  remorse.  The  picture  in  his 
mind's  eye  of  the  weeping  woman  in  her  tent  made  his 
heart  bleed  with  pity. 

He  must  go  back  to  her.  His  people  might  suspect  that 
she  was  the  author  of  their  trouble  and  in  their  fury  they 
might  threaten  her.  He  must  conceal  her  fault.  He  must 
take  her  sin  upon  himself. 

"  I  must  cover  her  with  my  cloak,"  he  thought. 

Thus,  thirsting  with  a  desire  to  drink  the  cup  of  his 
degradation  to  the  dregs,  Ishmael  got  back  to  camp.  It  was 
full  of  touching  sights.  Instead  of  the  flare  of  the  lights 
and  the  tumult  of  the  excited  crowds  which  he  had  left 
behind  him,  there  were  now  only  the  ashes  of  dying  fires 


548  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

and  the  melancholy  meanings  of  the  people  who  were  sitting 
about  them. 

He  made  his  way  first  to  Helena's  tent,  and,  standing 
by  the  mouth  of  it,  he  called  to  her. 

"  Rani !  " 

A  woman  who  had  been  lying  on  the  angerib  rose  to 
answer  him.     It  was  Zenoba. 

"Alas!  Your  Rani  has  gone,  O  Master!"  she  said, 
with  mock  sympathy  but  ill-concealed  tones  of  triumph. 

"Gone?" 

"  She  was  afraid  the  people  might  kill  her,  so  she  fled 
away." 

"Fled  away?" 

"  I  did  my  best  to  keep  her  for  your  sake,  but  she  loves 
herself  more  than  you,  and  that's  the  truth,  O  Master ! " 

Ishmael  groaned  and  staggered,  but  the  woman  showed 
no  pity. 

"  Better  have  contented  yourself  with  a  woman  of  your 
own  people,  who  would  have  been  true  and  faithful,"  she 
said  in  a  bitter  whisper. 

Covered  with  shame,  Ishmael  turned  away.  He  looked 
for  Zogal. 

The  black  Dervish  was  at  that  moment  struggling  to 
sustain  the  people's  faith  in  the  Master  and  his  mission  by 
means  of  a  pagan  superstition. 

"  Give  me  a  mutton  bone,"  he  had  said,  and  having  re- 
ceived one  he  had  looked  at  it  long  and  steadfastly  in  order 
to  read  the  future. 

As  Ishmael  came  up  to  the  smouldering  fire  about  which 
Zogal  and  his  company  were  squatting,  the  wild-eyed  Der- 
vish was  saying: 

"  It  will  be  well !  Allah  will  preserve  his  people  and  the 
Master  will  be  saved!  Did  I  not  tell  thee  the  bone  never 
lies?" 

"  Zogal,"  said  Ishmael,  "  sound  the  horn  and  let  the 
people  be  brought  together." 

The  sky  was  dark.  The  stars  had  gone  out.  It  was 
not  yet  midnight. 


THE    DAWN  549 


XI 

At  the  next  moment  the  melancholy  notes  of  the  great 
horn  rang  out  over  the  dark  camp  and  within  a  few  minutes 
an  immense  multitude  had  gathered. 

It  was  a  strange  spectacle  under  the  blank  darkness  of 
the  sky.  Men  carrying  lanterns,  which  cast  coarse  lights 
upward  into  their  swarthy  faces,  were  standing  in  a  surging 
and  murmuring  mass,  while  women,  like  shadows  in  the 
gloom,  were  huddling  together  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd. 

They  were  Ishmael's  faithful  people,  all  of  them,  broken- 
hearted believers  in  his  spiritual  mission,  for  at  the  shadow 
of  disaster  those  who  had  followed  him  for  personal  gains 
alone  had  gone. 

Ishmael  caused  the  people  to  be  drawn  up  in  a  great 
square,  and  then  mounting  a  camel  he  rode  into  the  midst 
of  them.    He  was  seen  to  be  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

"  Brothers,"  he  said,  "  we  have  passed  through  many 
hard  days  together.  You  have  shared  with  me  your  joys 
and  your  sorrows.  I  have  shared  with  you  my  hopes  and  my 
dreams.     We  are  one." 

Touched  to  the  heart  by  his  voice  as  much  as  his  words, 
the  people  cried : 

"  May  God  preserve  thee !  " 

"  Nay,"  he  cried,  "  may  God  punish  me,  for  I  have  per- 
mitted myself  to  be  deceived." 

The  people  thought  he  was  going  to  speak  of  the  woman 
who  was  understood  to  have  betrayed  him,  but  he  did  not 
do  so. 

"  Look !  "  he  cried,  pointing  toward  the  pyramid.  "  We 
stand  amid  the  ruins  of  a  pagan  world.  Where  are  the  Kings 
and  Counsellors  who  slept  in  these  desolate  places  ?  Gone ! 
All  gone !  Have  not  strangers  from  a  far  country  taken 
away  their  bodies  to  wonder  at?  Where  is  the  king  who 
built  this  tomb?  He  thought  himself  the  equal  of  God, 
yet  what  was  he?  A  man,  shaped  out  of  a  little  clay!  And 
I  ? "  he  said,  "  I,  too,  have  been  drunk  with  power.  I  have 
been  living  in  the  greatness  of  my  own  strength.  I  have 
36 


550  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

permitted  myself  to  believe  that  I  was  the  messenger  of 
God,  and  therefore  God — God  has  brought  me  down.  He 
has  laid  me  in  the  dust.     Blessed  be  the  name  of  God !  " 

Only  the  broken  ejaculations  of  the  i^eople  answered 
him,  and  he  went  on  without  pausing : 

"  In  bringing  me  down  he  has  brought  down  my  people 
also.  Alas  for  you,  my  brothers !  You  cannot  go  into 
Cairo.  The  armed  forces  of  the  Government  are  waiting 
there  to  destroy  you.  Therefore  turn  back  and  go  home. 
Forgive  your  leader  who  has  led  you  astray.  And  God 
preserve  and  comfort  you!" 

"And  you,  O  Master?"  cried  a  voice  that  rose  above 
the  confused  voices  of  the  people. 

Ishmael  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  said : 

"  In  times  of  great  war  and  pestilence  God  has  accepted 
an  atonement,  and  perhaps  he  will  do  so  now.  I  will  go 
into  Cairo  and  deliver  myself  to  the  Government.  I  will 
say,  '  The  man  you  hold  was  arrested  instead  of  me.  I  am 
your  true  prisoner.  Take  me  and  let  him — and  let  my  poor 
followers — go  free.'  " 

The  anguish  of  the  people  swelled  into  sobs  and  some 
of  them,  full  of  zeal,  swore  they  would  never  return  to  their 
homes  without  the  Master  but  would  follow  him  to  prison 
and  to  death. 

"  If  you  go  into  Cairo,  so  will  I !  "  cried  one. 

"  And  I,  too !  "  cried  another. 

"And  I!"  "And  I!"  "And  I!"  cried  others,  each 
holding  up  his  hand  and  stepping  out  as  he  spoke,  until  the 
square  in  which  Ishmael  sat  on  his  camel  was  full  of  excited 
men. 

At  that  moment  of  deep  emotion,  while  great  tears  were 
rolling  down  Ishmael's  cheeks  and  the  women  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  crowd  were  uttering  piercing  cries,  a  loud 
delirious  shout  was  heard,  and  a  man  was  seen  to  be  crush- 
ing his  way  through  the  people. 

It  was  Zogal,  and  his  wild  eyes  were  ablaze  with  frenzy. 

"  Wait !  Wait !  "  he  cried.  "  Has  the  Master  forgot- 
ten his  own  message?  He  says  the  soldiers  of  the  Franks 
and  Turks  are  waiting  in  Cairo  to  destroy  us.     But  isn't 


THE    DAWN  551 

God  greater  than  armies  i  We  are  weak  and  defenceless, 
but  does  lie  always  give  His  victory  to  the  armed  and  the 
strong?  What,"  he  cried  again,  "are  you  afraid  that  the 
Christians  will  kill  us  with  bullets^  That  they  will  eat  our 
flesh  and  drink  our  blood?  That  they  will  make  us  worship 
the  wooden  cross?  If  God  is  with  us  what  can  our  enemies 
do?  It  is  not  they  who  throw  the  javelin — it  is  God! 
Therefore,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that  had  risen  to  a  scream, 
"  if  the  Master  is  to  go  into  Cairo  we  will  all  go  with  him." 

In  vain  Ishmael  tried  to  stop  the  man.  His  protests 
w'ere  drowned  in  the  rapturous  responses  of  the  crowd. 
People  are  as  easily  swayed  to  as  fro,  they  regain  confidence 
as  rapidly  as  they  lose  it.  In  a  moment  the  Master  was  for- 
gotten and  only  the  wild-eyed  Dervish  seemed  to  be  heard. 

"  Did  not  God  promise  us,  through  the  mouth  of  His 
messenger,  that  we  should  go  into  Cairo — and  will  He  break 
His  word  ?  " 

"  Allah  !     Allah  !  "  shouted  the  crowd. 

"  Did  he  not  tell  us  He  would  send  a  sign  ? " 

"Allah!     Allah!" 

"  Shall  we  say  it  will  not  come,  and  call  God  a  liar? " 

"Allah!    Allah!" 

■"  *  At  the  hour  of  midnight  prayers,'  he  said,  '  the  light 
will  shine ! '  " 

"Allah!    Allah!    Allah!" 

"  Pray  for  it,  my  brothers,  pray  for  it,"  cried  Zogal,  and 
in  another  moment,  with  the  delirious  strength  of  one  pos- 
sessed, he  had  cleared  a  long  passage  through  the  people, 
and  begun  to  lead  a  wild  barbaric  zikr,  such  as  he  had  seen 
in  the  depths  of  the  desert. 

"The  light!  The  light!  Send  the  light,  O  Allah!" 
cried  Zogal,  striding  up  and  down  the  long  alley  of  bowing 
and  swaying  people,  and  tossing  his  sweating  and  foaming 
face  up  to  the  dark  sky. 

It  has  been  truly  said  that  everything  favours  those  who 
have  a  special  destiny — that  they  may  become  glorious 
against  their  own  will  and  as  if  by  the  command  of  fate.  It 
was  so  with  Ishmael.  At  the  very  moment  when  Zogal,  on 
the  desert,  was  calling  for  the  light  which  he  believed  God 


552  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

had  promised,  Ilafiz,  at  the  Citadel,  having  received  the  mes- 
sage which  Helena  had  sent  over  the  telephone  from  the 
house  of  the  Princess  Nazimah,  was  running  with  a  power- 
ful lantern  up  the  winding  stairway  of  one  of  the  minarets 
of  the  mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali. 

"The  light!  The  light!  Send  the  light,  O  Allah!" 
cried  the  Dervish,  and  at  the  next  moment,  while  the  breath- 
less crowd  about  him  were  looking  through  the  darkness 
toward  the  heights  above  Cairo,  expecting  to  see  the  mani- 
festation of  God's  sign  in  the  sky,  the  light  appeared! 

In  an  instant  the  whole  camp  was  a  scene  of  frantic 
rejoicing.  Men  were  shouting,  women  were  lu-luing,  camels 
and  asses  were  being  saddled,  tents  were  being  struck,  and 
everybody  and  everything  was  astir. 

Oh,  mysterious  and  divine  power  of  destiny  that  could 
make  the  fate  of  an  entire  nation  hang  on  the  accident  of 
time  and  the  unreasoning  impulses  of  one  poor  demented 
man ! 


XII 

Next  day  Ishmael  entered  Cairo.  News  of  his  coming 
had  been  noised  abroad  and  the  police  at  their  various  sta- 
tions had  been  told  that  beyond  the  necessary  efforts  to 
preserve  order  they  were  not  in  any  way  to  interfere  with 
his  procession.  Neither  Ishmael  nor  any  of  his  people  were 
to  be  allowed  to  pose  as  martyrs.  There  was  to  be  no  re- 
sistance and  no  bloodshed.  If  possible,  there  was  to  be  no 
scene. 

The  guests  at  the  King's  Dinner  had  left  the  Ghezirah 
long  before  midnight.  Such  of  them  as  were  innocent  of  all 
participation  in  conspiracy  (they  were  the  majority)  at- 
tributed the  Consul-General's  strange  outbreak  to  an  attack 
of  mental  vertigo  in  an  old  man  whose  health  had  long  been 
failing  from  the  pressure  of  public  work.  Nothing  was  al- 
lowed to  occur  which  would  give  the  incident  a  more  serious 
significance.  The  bridge  which  had  been  opened  was  closed 
and  the  guests  had  returned  to  their  homes  as  usual. 


THE    DAWN  553 

In  the  early  hours  of  morning  they  were  awakened  by 
loud  shoutings  in  the  streets.  Two  hundred  men  from  Ish- 
mael's  company  had  galloped  ahead  as  heralds,  and,  flying 
down  every  thoroughfare  to  reassure  the  population  of  the 
nature  of  the  vast  procession  that  was  coming,  they  were 
crj'ing: 

"  Peace !    Peace !    It  is  Peace !  " 

After  that  the  general  body  of  the  native  people,  who 
had  been  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation,  were  speeding  along 
the  streets.  They  found  mounted  and  foot  police  stationed 
at  various  points,  but  no  military  and  no  guns. 

It  was  a  triumphant  entry.  The  procession  came  in  by 
the  Gizeh  bridge,  and  passing  down  the  Kasr  el  Aini  into 
the  place  Ismailyah,  it  turned  down  the  broad  boulevard 
Abul  Aziz  toward  the  heart  of  the  city. 

The  sun  was  rising,  and  the  scene  was  a  blaze  of  colour. 
Banners  were  swinging  from  the  houses  like  ship's  pen- 
nants in  stormy  seas.  The  streets  seemed  to  be  carpeted 
with  the  tarbooshes  and  turbans  of  the  great,  moving,  surg- 
ing masses  of  humanity,  that  were  slowly  passing  through 
them.  There  were  brown  faces  that  were  almost  white  from 
the  fatigue  of  the  long  desert  march,  and  white  faces  that 
were  burned  brown  by  the  tropical  sun.  It  was  a  swarming, 
shifting,  variegated  thi'ong,  and  over  all  was  the  dazzling 
splendour  of  the  Eastern  sunrise. 

Before  the  procession  had  gone  far  it  seemed  as  if  the 
whole  population  of  Cairo  had  come  out  to  meet  it.  Eter- 
nal children !  There  is  nothing  they  love  more  than  to  look 
at  a  great  spectacle,  except  to  take  part  in  it,  and  they  hast- 
ened to  take  part  in  this  one.  Every  window  and  balcony 
was  soon  full  of  faces ;  every  house-top  was  alive  with  move- 
ment and  aflame  with  colour.  People  were  thronging  the 
footpaths  on  either  side  as  the  pilgrims  passed  between. 

The  wives  and  children  of  the  hundred  emissaries  who 
left  Cairo  on  Tshmael's  errand  had  come  out  to  look  for 
their  husbands  and  fathers  returning  home.  Eagerly  they 
were  scanning  the  faces  of  the  pilgrims  and  loud  and  wild 
were  their  cries  of  joy  when  thej'  recognised  their  own. 

Many  of  those  who  had  no  personal  interest  in  the  proces- 


554  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

sion  fell  into  line  with  it.  A  company  of  Dervishes  walked 
by  its  side  playing  pipes  and  drums.  Other  musicians  joined 
them  with  strange-looking  wooden  and  brass  instruments. 
Bursts  of  wild  Arab  music  broke  out  from  time  to  time  and 
then  stopped,  leaving  a  sort  of  confused  and  tumultuous  si- 
lence. 

Carts  filled  with  women  and  children,  who  were  laughing 
and  lu-luing  by  turns,  jolted  along  by  the  pilgrims  and 
shouted  to  them  and  cheered  them.  And  then  there  were 
the  pilgrims  themselves,  the  vast  concourse  of  fully  forty 
thousand  from  the  Soudan,  from  Assouan,  from  the  long 
Valley  of  the  Nile,  some  on  horses,  some  on  camels,  some  on 
donkeys,  some  wearing  their  simple  felt  skull  caps  and  gala- 
beahs,  others  in  flow'ing  robes  and  crimson  head-dresses. 
The  barbaric  splendour  and  intoxicating  arrogance  of  it  all 
"was  such  as  the  people  of  Cairo  had  never  seen  before. 

To  the  great  body  of  the  Cairenes  the  entrance  of  Ish- 
mael  Ameer  denoted  victory.  That  the  Government  per- 
mitted it  indicated  defeat.  The  great  English  lord,  who  had 
closed  El  Azhar,  thereby  damming  up  the  chief  fountain  of 
the  Islamic  faith,  had  been  beaten.  Either  the  Powers,  or 
God  Himself,  had  suppressed  him  and  rebuked  England. 
Pharaoh  had  fallen.  The  children  of  Allah  were  crossing 
their  Red  Sea.  Even  as  Mohammed,  after  being  expelled 
from  Mecca  as  a  rebel,  had  returned  to  it  as  a  conqueror,  so 
Ishmael,  after  being  cast  out  of  Cairo  as  the  enemy  of 
England,  was  coming  back  as  England's  master  and  king. 
So  louder  and  louder  became  their  wild  acclamations. 

"  Victory  to  Islam  !  " 

"El  Hamdullillah!" 

"  God  has  willed  it !  " 

When  Ishmael  himself  appeared  the  shouts  of  welcome 
were  deafening.  lie  had  been  long  in  coming,  and  the  peo- 
ple had  been  waiting  for  him  all  along  the  line.  He  came 
at  the  end  of  the  procession,  and  if  he  could  have  escaped 
from  it  altogether  he  would  have  done  so. 

In  spite  of  all  this  glory,  all  this  grandeur,  a  deep  melan- 
choly filled  the  soul  of  Ishmael.  He  was  not  carried  away 
by  what  had  happened.     Nothing  that   had   occurred  since 


THE    DAWN  555 

the  night  before  had  touched  his  pride.  When  the  light  ap- 
peared on  the  minaret  he  had  not  been  deceived.  He  knew 
that  by  some  unknown  turn  of  the  wheel  of  chance  his  peo- 
ple were  to  be  allowed  to  enter  Cairo,  but  all  the  same  his 
heart  was  low. 

The  only  interpretation  he  put  upon  the  change  in  events 
was  a  mystic  one.  God  had  refused  his  atonement !  God 
had  taken  the  leadership  of  his  people  out  of  his  hand!  As 
punishment  of  his  weakness  in  permitting  himself  to  be  be- 
trayed God  had  made  him  a  mere  follower  of  his  own  black 
servant !  Therefore  his  glory  was  his  shame !  His  hour  of 
triumph  was  his  hour  of  sorrow  and  disgrace !  He  was 
entering  Cairo  under  the  frown  of  the  face  of  God! 

When  the  camp  had  been  ready  to  move  he  had  mounted 
his  white  camel  and  ridden  last,  beset  by  melancholy  pre- 
occupations. But  when  he  came  to  the  Gizeh  bridge  and 
saw  the  crowds  that  were  coming  out  to  greet  him,  and  met 
Zogal,  who  had  galloped  into  the  city  and  was  galloping 
back  to  say  that  the  people  of  Cairo  were  preparing  a  tri- 
umph for  him,  he  made  his  camel  kneel  and  in  the  deep 
abasement  of  his  soul  he  got  down  to  walk. 

He  walked  the  whole  length  of  the  Kasr  el  Aini,  with 
head  down,  like  a  man  who  was  ashamed,  shuddering  visibly 
when  the  onlookers  cheered,  trembling  when  they  com- 
mended him  to  God,  and  almost  falling  when  they  saluted 
him  as  the  Deliverer  and  Redeemer  of  Islam  and  its 
people. 

Although  of  large  frame  and  strong  muscle,  he  was  a 
man  of  delicate  organisation,  and  the  strain  his  soul  was 
going  through  was  tearing  his  body  to  pieces.  At  length, 
as  he  approached  the  place  Ismailyah,  where  the  crowd  was 
dense,  he  stumbled  and  fell  on  one  knee. 

Zogal,  who  was  behind,  leaped  from  the  ass  he  was  riding 
and  lifted  the  Master  in  his  arms,  but  it  was  seen  that  he 
could  not  stand.  There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  in  which 
the  black  man  seemed  to  ask  himself  what  he  ought  to  do, 
and  at  the  next  instant  he  had  thrown  his  white  cloak  over 
the  donkey's  back  and  lifted  Ishmael  into  the  saddle. 

Meantime  the  people  in  the  streets,  in  the  balconies,  on 


556  THE    WHITE    PKOPHET 

the  house-tops,  were  waiting  for  the  new  prophet.  They  ex- 
pected to  see  him  coming  into  Cairo  as  a  conqueror — in  a 
litter  perhaps,  covered  with  gold  and  fringed  with  jingling 
coins  and  cowries — the  central  figure  of  a  great  procession 
such  as  would  remind  them  of  the  grandeur  of  the  Mahmal, 
the  holy  carpet,  returning  from  Mecca. 

When  at  length  he  came,  his  appearance  gave  a  shock. 
His  face  was  pale,  his  head  was  down,  and  he  was  riding  on 
an  ass ! 

But  truly  everything  favours  him  who  has  the  great  des- 
tiny. After  the  spectators  had  recovered  from  their  first 
shock  at  the  sight  of  Ishmael,  his  humility  touched  their 
imagination.  Remembering  how  he  had  left  Cairo  and  see- 
ing how  meekly  he  was  returning  to  it,  their  acclamations 
became  deafening. 

"Praise  be  to  God!" 

"  May  God  preserve  you !  " 

"May  God  give  you  long  life!  " 

And  then  some  one  who  thought  he  saw  in  the  entrance 
of  Ishmael  into  Cairo  a  reproduction  of  the  most  tri- 
umphant if  the  most  tragic  incident  in  the  life  of  the  Lord 
of  the  Christians,  shouted: 

"  Seyidna  Tsa !    Seyidna  Isa  !  "  ("  Our  Lord  Jesus !  ") 

In  a  moment  the  name  was  taken  up  on  every  side  and 
resounded  in  joyous  accents  down  the  streets.  The  belief  of 
a  crowd  is  created  not  by  slow  processes  of  reason,  but  by 
quick  flashes  of  emotion,  and  instantly  the  surging  mass 
of  I^astern  children  had  accepted  the  idea  that  Ishmael 
Ameer  was  a  reincarnation  of  that  "  divine  man  of  Judea  " 
whom  he  had  taught  them  to  reverence,  that  "  son  of  Mary  " 
whom  the  Prophet  himself  had  placed  first  among  the  chil- 
dren of  men. 

To  make  the  parallel  complete,  people  rushed  out  of  the 
bouses  and  spread  their  coats  on  the  ground  in  front  of  him, 
and  some,  pushing  their  adoration  to  yet  greater  lengths, 
climbed  the  trees  that  lined  the  Boulevard,  and  tearing  away 
branches  and  boughs  flung  them  before  his  feet. 

The  Dervishes  ran  ahead  crying  the  new  name  in  frantic 
tones,   while   a   company   of  grave-looking  men   walked   on 


THE    DAWN  557 

either  side  of  Tshmael,  chautiug  the  first  Surah:  "Praise  be 
to  God  the  Lord  of  all  creatures,"  and  the  muezzin  in  the 
minarets  of  the  mosques  (blind  men  nearly  all,  who  could 
see  nothing  of  the  boiling,  bubbling,  gorgeous  scene  below) 
chanted  the  profession  of  faith :  "  There  is  no  god  but  God ! 
God  is  Most  Great !  God  is  Most  Great !  "  Men  shouted 
with  delight,  Avomen  lu-lued  with  joy,  and  the  thousands  of 
voices  that  clashed  through  the  air  sounded  like  bells  ring- 
ing a  joyful  peal. 

Nothing  could  have  exceeded  the  savage  grandeur  of  Ish- 
mael's  return  to  Cairo ;  but  Ishmael  himself,  the  white  figure 
sitting  sideways  on  an  ass,  continued  to  move  along  with  a 
humbled  and  chastened  soul.  He  was  a  sad  man  with  his 
own  secret  sorrow;  a  bereaved  man,  a  betrayed  man,  with 
a  heart  that  was  torn  and  bleeding. 

When  he  remembered  that  in  spite  of  his  betrayal  his 
predictions  were  being  fulfilled,  he  told  himself  that  that  was 
by  God's  doing  only,  not  by  his  in  any  way.  When  he  heard 
the  divine  name  by  which  the  people  greeted  him  he  felt  as 
if  he  were  being  burned  to  the  very  marrow.  He  was 
crushed  by  their  mistaken  worship.  He  knew  himself  now 
for  a  poor,  weak,  blind,  deceived  and  self-deluded  man  whom 
the  Almighty  had  smitten  and  brought  low.  Therefore  he 
made  no  response  to  the  frantic  acclamations.  Every  step 
of  the  road  as  he  passed  along  was  like  a  purgatorial  pro- 
cession, and  his  suffering  was  written  in  lines  of  fire  on  his 
downcast  face. 

"  O  Father,  spare  me,  spare  me !  "  he  prayed  as  the  peo- 
ple shouted  by  his  side. 

Once  he  made  an  effort  to  dismount,  but  Zogal,  think- 
ing the  Master's  strength  was  failing,  put  an  arm  about  him 
and  held  him  in  his  seat. 

It  took  the  whole  morning  for  the  procession  to  pass 
through  the  city.  Unconsciously,  as  the  blood  tiows  to  the 
heart,  it  went  up  through  the  Mousky  to  El  Azhar.  All  the 
gates  of  the  University,  which  had  been  so  long  closed,  were 
standing  open.  Who  had  opened  them  no  one  seemed  to 
know.  The  people  crowded  into  the  courtyard  and  in  a  little 
while  the  vast  place  was  full.  A  platform  had  been  raised 
^7 


558  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

at  the  farther  side  and  on  this  Ishmael  was  placed  with  the 
chief  of  the  Ulema  beside  him. 

By  one  of  those  accidents  which  always  attach  them- 
selves to  great  events  it  chanced  that  the  day  of  Ishmael's 
return  to  Cairo  was  also  the  first  day  of  the  Mouled — the 
nine  days  of  rejoicing  for  the  birthday  of  the  Prophet.  This 
fact  was  quickly  seized  upon  as  a  means  for  uniting  to  the 
beautiful  Moslem  custom  for  "  attaining  the  holy  satisfac- 
tion "  the  opportunity  of  celebrating  the  victory  for  Islam 
which  Ishmael  was  thought  to  have  attained.  Therefore,  the 
Sheikh  Seyid  el  Bakri,  descendant  of  the  Prophet  and  head 
of  the  Moslem  confraternities,  determined  to  receive  his 
congregations  in  El  Azhar,  where  Ishmael  might  share  in 
their  homage. 

They  came  in  thousands,  carrying  their  gilded  banners 
which  were  written  over  with  lines  from  the  Koran,  ranged 
themselves,  company  after  company,  in  half-circles  before 
the  dais,  salaamed  to  those  who  sat  on  it,  chanted  words  to 
the  glory  of  God  and  His  Prophet,  and  then  stepped  up  to 
kiss  the  hands  and  sometimes  the  feet  of  their  chief  and 
his  companions. 

Ishmael  tried  to  avoid  their  homage,  but  could  not  do  so. 
Mechanically  he  uttered  the  usual  response,  "  May  God  re- 
peat upon  you  this  feast  in  happiness  and  benediction,"  and 
then  fell  back  upon  his  own  reflections. 

Notwithstanding  the  blaze  and  blare  of  the  scene  about 
him,  his  mind  was  returning  to  Helena.  Where  was  she? 
What  fate  had  befallen  her?  At  length,  unable  to  bear  any 
longer  the  burden  of  his  thoughts,  and  the  purgatory  of  his 
position,  he  got  up  and  stole  away  through  the  corridors  at 
the  back  of  the  mosque. 

When  darkness  fell  the  native  quarters  of  Cairo  were 
illuminated.  Lamps  were  hung  from  the  poles  which  pro- 
ject from  the  minarets  of  the  mosque.  Hopes  were  swung 
from  minaret  to  minaret,  and  from  these,  also,  lamps  were 
suspended.  In  the  poorer  streets  people  were  going  about 
with  open  flares  in  iron  grills,  and  in  the  better  avenues  rich 
men  were  walking  behind  their  lantern  bearers.  Blind  beg- 
gars in  the  cafes  were  reciting  the  genealogy  of  the  Prophet, 


THE    DAWN  559 

and  at  the  end  of  every  passage  other  blind  beggars  were 
crying,  "  La  Ihiha  illa-llah !  " 

Late  at  night,  when  the  vast  following  which  Ishmael 
had  brought  into  the  city  had  to  be  housed,  messengers  ran 
through  the  streets  asking  for  lodgings  for  the  pilgrims,  and 
people  answered  from  their  windows  and  balconies :  "  I'll 
take  one  " ;  "  I'll  take  two,"  Twenty  thousand  slept  in  the  * 
courtyard  and  on  the  roofs  of  El  Azhar;  the  rest  in  the 
houses  round  about. 

The  trust  in  God  which  had  seemed  to  be  slain  the  night 
before,  awoke  to  a  new  life,  and  when  at  length  the  de- 
lirious city  lay  down  to  sleep,  the  watchmen  walked  through 
the  deserted  thoroughfares  crying,  "  Wahhed  !  Wahhed !  " 
(God  is  One!) 

In  the  dead,  hollow,  echoing  hours  of  early  morning  a 
solitary  coach  passed  through  the  streets  in  the  direction  of 
the  outlying  stations  of  the  railway  to  Port  Said.  Its 
blinds  were  down.  It  was  empty.  But  on  the  box  seat 
beside  the  coachman  sat  a  nervous,  watchful  person  with  an 
evil  face,  wearing  the  costume  of  a  footman. 

It  was  the  Grand  Cadi.  He  had  been  the  supreme  ortho- 
dox authority  of  the  Moslem  faith,  sent  from  Constanti- 
nople as  representative  and  exponent  of  the  spiritual  au- 
thority vested  in  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  as  the  Caliph  of 
Islam,  but  he  was  stealing  out  of  Cairo  like  a  thief. 


XIII 

A  General  Court-Martial  was  fixed  for  the  following 
morning,  and  Helena  was  for  going  to  it  just  as  she  was, 
in  the  mixed  Eastern  and  Western  costume  which  she  had 
worn  on  the  desert,  but  the  Princess  would  not  hear  of  that. 
She  must  wear  the  finest  gown  and  the  smartest  Paris  hat 
that  could  be  obtained  in  Cairo  in  order  that  Gordon  might 
see  her  at  her  best. 

"  He  may  be  a  hero,"  said  the  Princess,  "  but  he  is  a 
man,  too,  God  bless  him!  and  he'll  want  to  see  the  woman 
he  loves  look  lovely." 


560  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

So  the  milliners  and  dressmakers  were  set  to  work 
immediately  and  bound  by  endless  pledges. 

'*  Of  course  they'll  promise  you  the  stars  at  noonday," 
said  the  Princess,  "  but  if  they  don't  come  up  to  the  scratch 
they  get  no  money.  lieep  your  cat  hungry  and  she'll  catch 
the  rat,  you  know." 

In  due  time  the  costume  was  ready,  and  when  Hel- 
ena had  put  it  on — a  close-fitting  silver-gray  robe  and  a 
a  large  black  hat — the  Princess  stood  off  from  her  and 
said : 

"  Well,  my  moon,  my  sweet,  my  beauty,  if  he  doesn't 
want  to  live  a  little  longer  after  he  has  seen  you  in  that  he's 
not  fit  to  be  alive!  " 

But  at  the  last  moment  Helena  called  for  a  thick,  dark 
veil. 

"  I've  no  right  to  sap  away  his  courage,"  she  said,  and 
the  Princess,  who  had  heard  everything  that  Helena  had  to 
tell  and  had  swung  round  to  Gordon's  side  entirely,  could 
say  no  more. 

Hafiz  came  to  take  the  ladies  to  the  Citadel,  and  as 
he  was  leaving  them  at  the  gate  to  go  to  Gordon  in  his 
quarters,  Helena  gave  him  the  letter  she  had  written  at 
Sakkara. 

"  Tell  him  I  mean  all  I  say — every  word  of  it,"  she 
whispered. 

The  Court-Martial  was  held  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the 
palace  of  Mohammed  Ali — up  a  wide  stone  staircase  across 
a  bare  court,  through  a  grained  archway,  beyond  a  great 
hall  which  in  former  days  had  seen  vast  assemblies,  and 
past  a  door  labelled  "  Minister  of  War,"  into  a  gorgeously 
decorated  chamber,  overlooking  a  garden,  with  its  patch  of 
green  shut  in  by  high  stone  walls.  It  had  once  been  the 
harem  of  the  great  Pasha. 

The  room  was  already  full  when  Helena  and  the  Princess 
arrived,  but  places  were  found  for  them  near  to  the  door. 
This  position  suited  Helena  perfectly,  but  to  the  Princess 
it  was  a  deep  disappointment,  and  as  a  consequence  nothing 
pleased  her. 

"  All  English  and  all  soldiers !     Not  an  Egyptian  among 


THE    DAWN  561 

them,"  she  said.  "After  what  he  has  done  for  them,  too! 
Ingrates !     Excuse  the  word.     That's  what  I  call  them," 

At  that  moment  Hafiz  entered,  and  the  Princess,  touch- 
ing him  on  the  arm,  said: 

"  Here,  you  come  and  sit  on  the  other  side  of  her  and 
keep  up  her  heart,  the  sweet  one." 

Hafiz  did  as  he  was  told,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  seated 
beside  Helena  he  whispered: 

"  I've  just  left  him." 

"How  is  he?" 

"  Firm  as  a  rock.     He  sent  you  a  message." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Tell  her,"  he  said,  "  that  great  love  conquers  death." 

"  Ah !  " 

At  the  next  moment  Helena's  hand  and  Hafiz's  found 
each  other  in  a  fervent  clasp,  and  sweetheart  and  foster- 
brother  sat  together  so  until  the  end  of  the  inquiry. 

Presently  the  judges  of  the  Court  entered  and  took  their 
places  at  the  table  that  had  been  prepared  for  them — one 
full  colonel  and  four  lieutenant-colonels  of  mature  age,  from 
different  British  regiments. 

"  They  look  all  right,  but  white  hairs  are  no  proof  of 
wisdom,"  muttered  the  Princess. 

Then  the  accused  was  called,  and  amid  breathless  silence 
Gordon  entered  with  a  firm  step,  attended  by  the  ofiicer 
who  had  him  in  charge.  His  manner  was  calm,  and  though 
his  face  was  pale  almost  to  pallor,  his  expression  betrayed 
neither  fear  nor  bravado.  His  appearance  made  a  deep 
impression,  and  the  President  told  him  to  sit.  At  the 
same  moment  it  was  observed  that  the  Sirdar  came  in  by 
a  door  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room  and  took  a  seat 
immediately  in  front  of  him. 

The  Court  was  then  sworn  and  the  charge  was  read.  It 
accused  the  prisoner  of  three  offences  under  the  Army  Act : 
first,  that  being  a  person  subject  to  military  law,  he  had 
disobeyed  the  lawful  command  of  a  superior  in  such  a  way 
as  to  show  a  wilful  disregard  of  authority  (A.  A.,  9,  1) ; 
second,  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  acts  and  conduct  to  the 
prejudice  of  good  order  and  militarj^  discipline  (A.  A.,  40) ; 


562  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

third,  that  he  had  deserted  his  Majesty's  service  while  on 
active  service  (A.  A.,  12,  1^). 

"  He  heard  it  all  yesterday  morning,"  whispered  Hafiz  to 
Helena,  whose  nervous  fingers  were  tightening  about  his 
own. 

The  charges  having  been  read  out  to  the  accused,  he 
Avas  called  upon  to  plead. 

"  Are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?"  asked  the  President. 

There  was  a  moment  of  breathless  silence,  and  then, 
in  a  measured  voice  without  a  break  or  a  tremor,  Gordon 
said: 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  plead  at  all." 

A  subdued  murmur  passed  through  the  room,  and  Hafiz 
whispered  again : 

"  He  wanted  to  plead  guilty  and  the  Sirdar  had  all  he 
could  do  to  prevent  him." 

"  Enter  a  plea  of  '  Not  guilty '  on  the  record,"  .said  the 
President. 

Then,  addressing  Gordon,  the  President  asked  if  he  was 
represented  by  counsel.  Gordon  shook  his  head.  Did  he 
desire  to  conduct  his  own  defence?  Again  Gordon  shook 
his  head.  The  President  conferred  for  a  moment  with  other 
members  of  the  Court  and  then  said : 

"  It  is  within  the  power  of  the  Court  to  appoint  a 
properly-qualified  person  to  act  as  counsel  for  the  accused, 
and  in  this  case  the  Court  desires  to  do  so.  Is  there  any 
officer  here,  subject  to  military  law,  who  wishes  to  under- 
take the  task  of  Defender  ?  " 

In  a  moment  it  was  plainly  evident  that  the  sympathies 
of  Gordon's  brother  officers  were  with  him.  Twenty  men 
in  uniform  had  leaped  to  their  feet  and  were  holding  up 
their  hands. 

"  Lord  God,  how  they  love  him !  "  whispered  Hafiz,  and 
Helena  had  to  hold  down  her  head  lest  she  should  be  seen 
to  cry. 

The  Defender  selected  was  a  young  captain  of  cavalry 
who  had  brought  a  brilliant  reputation  from  the  Staff  Col- 
lege, and  in  a  moment  he  was  in  the  midst  of  his  duties. 

"  Does  the  accused  desire  a   short  adjournment  of  the 


THE    DAWN  563 

Court  in  order  to  instruct  his  Defender  ?  "  asked  the  Presi- 
dent. 

Once  more  Gordon,  who  had  stood  passively  during  these 
proceedings,  shook  his  head,  and  then,  without  further  pre- 
liminaries, the  trial  began.  The  prosecutor  rose  to  make 
his  opening  address.  He  was  an  artillery  officer  of  high 
reputation. 

"  ITc'Il  make  it  no  worse  than  he  can  help,"  whispered 
Hafiz. 

In  simple  words  the  prosecutor  stated  his  case,  confining 
himself  to  the  briefest  explanation  of  the  facts  he  was  about 
to  prove,  and  then  he  called  the  first  of  his  witnesses. 
This  was  the  military  secretary-,  Captain  Graham,  who  had 
been  present  at  the  prisoner's  intei-view  with  the  late  Gen- 
eral Graves. 

"  Not  a  bad  chap — ^he'll  do  no  more  than  he  must,"  whis- 
pered Hafiz. 

Replying  to  the  prosecutor's  questions,  the  military  sec- 
retary said  that  Gordon  had  refused  to  obey  the  order  of 
his  superior  given  personally  by  that  officer  in  the  execution 
of  his  office,  and  that  his  refusal  had  been  deliberate  and 
distinct  and  such  as  showed  an  intention  to  defy  and  resist 
authority. 

"  I  object,"  said  the  young  Defender,  instantly,  whereupon 
the  officer  of  the  Court  who  filled  the  post  of  Judge- Advo- 
cate submitted  that  the  witness  had  drawn  an  inference 
which  was  no  evidence  and  ought  therefore  to  be  struck 
out. 

The  Defender  then  rose  to  cross-examine  the  first  wit- 
ness, and  in  a  few  minutes  the  military  secretary  was  made 
to  prove,  first,  that  the  prisoner  had  tried  to  show  his 
superior  that  the  order  he  was  giving  him  was  contrary 
to  humanity  and  likely  to  lead  to  an  irreparable  result; 
next  that  when  executed  by  another  officer,  it  had  led  to  an 
irreparable  result,  including  bloodshed  and  loss  of  life; 
and,  finally,  that  after  the  order  had  been  disobeyed  by  the 
accused  the  most  inexcusable  and  disgraceful  and  even 
illegal  and  unsoldierly  insults  had  been  inflicted  upon  him 
by  his  General. 


564  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  That's  true !  My  God,  that's  true !  Illegal  and  un- 
soldierly ! "  -whispered  Hafiz,  forgetting  to  whom  he  was 
talking;  and  Helena,  in  the  riot  of  her  dual  love,  for  her 
father  and  for  Gordon,  could  do  nothing  but  hold  down  her 
head. 

Then  the  prosecutor  called  Colonel  Macdonald. 

"  A  bnite — he'll  do  his  dam'dest,"  whispered  Hafiz. 

Amid  scarcely  suppressed  murmurs  Coloned  Macdonald, 
speaking  with  manifest  bitterness,  proved  the  assault  upon 
himself,  and  then  went  on  to  say  that  it  was  unprovoked, 
it  was  brutal,  and  it  was  conduct  unbecoming  the  character 
of  an  officer  and  a  gentleman. 

"  A  lie  like  that  has  no  legs  to  walk  on,"  whispered 
Hafiz. 

"  No,  but  it  has  wings  to  fly  with,  though,"  said  the 
Princess. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Helena. 

Again,  like  a  flash  of  light,  the  young  Defender  had 
leapt  up  to  protest  against  an  inference  which  the  Court 
alone  was  entitled  to  draw,  and  again  the  Judge-Advocate 
had  submitted  that  the  inference  should  be  struck  out. 

Amid  obvious  excitement  among  the  soldiers  in  Court, 
the  Defender  then  rose  to  cross-exmine  the  second  witness, 
and  in  a  moment  Macdonald's  freckled  face  had  become 
scarlet,  as  he  was  compelled  to  admit  that,  at  the  instant 
when  he  was  assaulted,  he  had  ordered  the  shooting  of  a 
boy  (who  fell  dead  from  the  walls  of  El  Azhar),  and  was 
swearing  at  the  boy's  mother  who  was  weeping  over  her 
son. 

"  Ah,  his  rage  will  be  at  the  end  of  his  nose  now,"  whis- 
pered the  Princess. 

Finally  the  prosecutor  called  the  officer  who  was  tem- 
porarily commanding  the  Army  of  Occupation  to  show  that 
the  accused,  after  disobeying  the  order  of  his  late  General, 
had  disappeared  from  Cairo  and  had  not  been  seen  since 
the  riot  at  El  Azhar  until  his  capture  two  days  before. 

The  evidence  for  the  prosecution  being  now  finished, 
the  Court  prepared  itself  for  the  defence.  There  was  a 
certain  appearance  of  anxious  curiosity  on  the  faces  of  the 


THE    DAWN  565 

judges,    and    a    tingling   atmosphere   of   expectancy   among 
the  spectators. 

Then  came  a  surprise.  The  young  Defender,  who  had 
been  holding  a  whispered  conference  with  Gordon,  turned 
to  the  President  and  said: 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  the  accused  has  decided  not  to 
call  any  witnesses  in  defence." 

"  But  perhaps,"  said  the  President,  turning  to  Gordon, 
'*  you  wish  to  give  evidence  for  yourself.    Do  you  ? " 

There  was  another  moment  of  breathless  silence,  and 
then  Gordon,  after  looking  slowly  round  the  room,  in  the 
direction  of  the  place  in  which  Helena  sat  with  her  head 
down,  said  calmly: 

"  No." 

At  that  the  murmuring  among  the  spectators  could 
hardly  be  suppressed.  It  was  now  plainly  evident  that 
Gordon's  brother  officers  were  with  him  to  a  man.  They 
had  been  counting  on  an  explanation  that  would  at  least 
palliate  his  conduct  if  it  could  not  excuse  his  offences.  The 
disappointment  was  deep,  but  the  sympathy  was  still  deeper. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Gordon  meant  to  die? 

"  Lift  up  your  veil,  child,"  whispered  the  Princess,  but 
Helena  shook  her  head. 

After  the  prosecutor  had  summed  up  his  evidence,  the 
Defender  addressed  the  Court  for  the  defence.  He  pleaded 
extenuating  circumstances,  first  on  the  ground  that  the 
order  given  to  the  accused,  though  not  in  opposition  to 
the  established  customs  of  the  army  or  the  laws  of  the 
land,  was  calculated  to  do  irreparable  injury  and  had  done 
such  injury,  and  next  on  the  ground  of  outrageous  provo- 
cation. 

When  the  Defender  had  finished  the  President  announced 
that  his  Excellency  the  Sirdar  had  volunteered  to  give  evi- 
dence in  proof  of  the  prisoner's  honourable  record,  and  that 
the  Court  had  decided  to  hear  him. 

The  Sirdar  was  then  sworn,  and  in  strong,  affecting, 
soldierly  words,  he  said  the  accused  had  rendered  great 
services  to  his  country;  that  he  had  received  many  medals 
and  distinctions;  that  he  was  as  brave  a  man  as  ever  stood 


566  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

under  arms  and  one  of  the  young  officers  who  made  an  old 
soldier  proud  to  belong  to  the  British  Army. 

There  is  no  company  more  easily  moved  to  tears  than  a 
company  of  soldiers,  and  when  the  Sirdar  sat  down  there 
was  not  a  dry  eye  in  that  assembly  of  brave  men. 

After  a  pause  the  President  announced  that  the  Court 
would  be  closed  to  consider  the  finding,  but  in  order  to 
assist  the  judges  in  doing  so  it  would  be  desirable  that  they 
should  know  more  of  the  conditions  under  which  the  accused 
was  arrested.  Therefore  the  following  persons  would  be 
asked  to  remain : 

His  Excellency  the  Sirdar, 

The  Commandant  of  Police, 

Captain  Hafiz  Ahmed  of  the  Egyptian  Army. 

Helena,  with  the  other  spectators,  was  passing  out  of 
the  room  when  the  Sirdar  touched  her  on  the  shoulder  and 
said,  haltingly: 

"  Have  you  perhaps  got —  Can  you  trust  me  with  those 
letters  for  a  little  while?" 

By  some  impulse,  hardly  intelligible  to  herself,  Helena 
had  brought  Gordon's  letters  with  her,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation  she  took  them  out  of  her  pocket  and 
gave  them  to  the  Sirdar,  saying,  very  faintly  but  very 
sweetly : 

"  Yes,  I  can  trust  them  to  you." 

Then,  with  the  Princess,  she  went  out  into  the  great 
hall  and  sat  there  on  a  window  seat  while  the  Court  was 
closed.  There  was  a  sad  and  solemn  expression  in  her  face, 
and  seeing  this,  even  through  her  dark  veil,  the  officers 
who  were  pacing  to  and  fro,  moved  by  that  delicacy  which 
is  the  nobler  part  of  an  English  gentleman's  reserve — re- 
spect for  the  intimacies  that  are  sacred  to  another  person — 
merely  bowed  to  her  as  they  passed. 

The  strain  was  great,  for  she  knew  what  was  going  on 
behind  the  closed  door  of  the  Court-room.  The  judges  were 
trying  to  find  in  the  circumstances  of  Gordon's  arrest  some 
excuse  for  his  desertion.  She  could  see  the  Sirdar  and 
Hafiz  struggling  to  show  that,  however  irregular  and  repre- 
hensible from  a  disciplinary  standpoint,  Gordon's  had  been 


THE    DAWN  567 

the  higher  patriotism  that,  coming  back  under  those  strange 
conditions  and  in  that  strange  disguise,  he  had  deliberately 
returned  to  die.  And  she  could  see  the  Court  powerfully 
moved  by  that  plea,  yet  helpless  to  take  account  of  it. 

Half  an  hour  passed;  an  hour;  nearly  two  hours,  and 
then  a  young  officer  came  up  to  tell  Helena  that  the  Court 
was  about  to  reopen. 

"  I  think — I  hope  they  intend  to  recommend  him  to 
mercy,"  he  said,  blunderingly,  and  at  the  next  moment  he 
felt  as  if  he  would  like  to  cut  his  tongue  out.  But  Helena 
was  unhurt.  She  held  up  her  head  for  the  first  time  that 
day,  and,  to  the  Princess's  surprise,  when  they  re-entered 
the  room,  and  the  officers  made  way  for  her,  she  pushed 
through  to  the  front  and  took  a  seat,  back  to  the  wall, 
immediately  before  the  Sirdar  and  almost  face  to  face  with 
Gordon. 

There  was  that  tense  atmosphere  in  the  Court  which 
always  precedes  a  sentence,  but  there  was  also  a  sort  of 
humid  air  as  if  the  angel  of  pity  had  passed  through  the 
place  and  softened  it  to  tears. 

Gordon  was  told  to  rise,  and  then  the  President,  obviously 
affected,  proceeded  to  address  him.  He  might  say  at  once 
that  the  judges  regretted  to  find  themselves  unable  to  take 
account  of  the  moral  aspects  of  the  case.  Nothing  but  its 
military  aspects  came  within  their  cognizance.  That  being 
so,  the  Court,  notwithstanding  the  able  and  ingenious 
defence,  could  find  no  excuse  for  insubordination — the  first 
duty  of  a  soldier  was  to  obey.  In  like  manner  they  could 
find  no  excuse  for  a  savage  personal  attack  by  an  officer  in 
uniform  upon  another  officer  in  the  exercise  of  his  office — 
it  was  conduct  to  the  prejudice  of  good  order  and  military 
discipline.  Finally,  the  Court  could  find  no  excuse  for  de- 
sertion— it  was  an  act  of  great  offence  to  the  flag  which  a 
soldier  was  sworn  to  serve. 

"  Under  these  circumstances,"  continued  the  President, 
"  the  Court  have  no  alternative  but  to  find  you  guilty  of 
the  crimes  with  which  you  have  been  charged,  and  though 
it  is  within  the  Court's  discretion  to  mitigate  the  penalty 
of  your  offences,  they  have  decided,  after  anxious  delibera- 


568  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

tion,  remembering  the  grave  fact  that  the  force  in  Egypt 
is  on  active  service,  not  to  exercise  that  right,  but  out  of 
regard  to  your  high  record  as  a  soldier  and  the  great  provo- 
cation which  you  certainly  suffered,  to  content  themselves 
with  recommending  you  to  mercy,  thus  leaving  the  issue 
to  a  higher  authority.  Therefore,  whatever  the  result  of 
that  recommendation,  it  is  now  my  duty,  my  very  painful 
duty,  to  pronounce  upon  you,  Charles  Gordon  Lord,  the 
full  sentence  prescribed  by  military  law — death." 

There  was  a  solemn  silence  until  the  President's  last 
word  was  spoken,  when  all  eyes  turned  toward  Gordon. 

He  bore  himself  with  absolute  self-possession.  There 
was  a  slight  quivering  of  the  eyelids  and  a  quick  glint  of 
the  steel-gray  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  opposite  side 
of  the  Court — nothing  more. 

Then  a  thrilling  incident  occurred.  Helena,  whose  head 
had  been  down  was  seen  to  rise  in  her  seat,  and  to  raise  her 
thick  dark  veil.  One  moment  she  stood  there,  back  to  the 
wall,  with  her  magnificent  pale  face  all  strength  and  courage, 
looking  steadily  across  at  the  prisoner  as  if  nobody  were 
present  in  the  room.  Then  as  quietly  as  she  had  risen  she 
sank  back  to  her  place. 

Oh,  sublime  power  of  love!  Oh,  pitiful  impoterice  of 
words!  Everybody  felt  the  thousand  inexpressible  things 
which  that  simple  act  was  meant  to  convey. 

Gordon  was  the  first  to  feel  them,  and  when  his  guard 
touched  him  on  the  arm  he  turned  and  went  out  with  a 
step  that  rang  on  the  marble  floor — firm  as  a  rock. 

As  the  Court  broke  up  one  of  the  officers  was  heard  to 
whisper  hoarsely: 

"  She's  worthy  of  him — what  more  is  there  to  say?" 

At  the  last  moment  the  Sirdar  turned  to  her  and  whis- 
pered : 

"  You  must  lend  me  these  letters  a  little  longer,  my 
dear.  And  remember  what  I  said  before — there's  still  the 
Secretary  of  State,  and  there's  still  the  King." 


THE    DAWN  569 


XIV 

The  strength  in  Helena's  face  was  not  belied  by  the  will 
behind  it.  Within  an  hour  she  was  at  work  to  save  Gordon's 
life.  Going  to  the  officer  who  had  acted  as  Judge- Advocate, 
she  learned  that  the  sentence  would  not  go  to  headquarters 
for  confirmation  until  after  two  days.  In  those  two  days 
she  achieved  wonders. 

First,  she  approached  the  President  of  the  Court  and 
made  sure  that  the  recommendation  to  mercy  should  go  to 
London  by  the  same  mail  that  carried  the  report  of  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

Next,  she  visited  the  lieutenant-colonel  of  every  regi- 
ment of  the  Army  of  Occupation  and  secured  his  signature 
and  the  signatures  of  his  fellow-officers  to  a  petition  asking 
for  the  commutation  of  the  sentence. 

Two  days  and  two  nights  she  spent  in  this  work,  and 
everybody  at  Abbassiah  and  at  the  Citadel  knew  what  the 
daughter  of  the  late  General  was  doing.  A  woman  is  irre- 
sistible to  a  soldier;  a  beautiful  woman  in  distress  is  over- 
powering; all  the  army  was  in  love  with  Helena;  every 
soldier  was  her  slave. 

When,  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day  when  she  re- 
turned to  the  house  of  the  Princess,  she  found  three  ''  Tom- 
mies," two  in  khaki  and  one  in  Highland  plaid,  waiting  for 
her  in  the  hall.  They  produced  a  thick  packet  of  foolscap, 
badly  disfigured  by  finger-prints  and  smelling  strongly  of 
tobacco,  but  containing  four  thousand  signatures  to  her 
appeal. 

Perhaps  her  greatest  triumph,  however,  was  with  Colonel 
Macdonald. 

"  I  must  have  his  help,  too."  she  said  to  the  Princess, 
whereupon  her  Highness  put  her  finger  to  her  nose  and 
answered : 

"  If  you  must,  my  heart,  you  must,  but  remember — when 
you  want  a  dog's  service  address  him  as  '  Sir.'  " 

She  did.  With  a  blush  she  told  the  Colonel  (it  was  a 
dear  divine  falsehood)  that  Gordon  had  said  he  had  had  no 


570  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

personal  animosity  against  him  and  was  sorry  if  at  a  mo- 
ment of  undue  excitement  he  had  behaved  badly. 

The  curmudgeon  took  the  apology  according  to  his  kind, 
saying  that  in  his  opinion  an  officer  who  struck  a  brother 
officer  publicly  and  before  his  men  deserved  to  be  shot  or 
drummed  out  of  the  army,  but  still,  if  Colonel  Lord  was 
ashamed  of  what  he  had  done — 

Helena's  eyes  flashed  with  anger,  but  she  compelled  her- 
self to  smile  and  to  say : 

"  He  is,  I  assure  you,  he  is."  And  before  the  big  High- 
lander knew  what  he  was  doing  he  had  written  to  head- 
quarters at  Helena's  dictation,  to  say  that  inasmuch  as  his 
own  quarrel  with  Colonel  Gordon  Lord  had  been  composed, 
that  count  in  the  offence  might,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned, 
be  wiped  out. 

The  sweet  double-face  told  him  how  good  and  noble  and 
even  Christlike  this  was  of  him,  and  then,  marching  off 
with  the  letter,  she  said  to  herself,  "  The  brute !  " 

Meantime,  Hafiz,  acting  through  his  uncle  the  Chancellor, 
got  the  Ulema  of  El  Azhar  to  send  a  message  to  the  Foreign 
Minister  saying,  with  many  Eastern  flourishes,  that  what 
General  Graves  had  ordered  Gordon  to  do,  what  his  sub- 
ordinate had  done,  was  a  deep  injury  to  the  religious  sus- 
ceptibilities of  the  Mohammedan  people. 

Besides  this  the  Sirdar  sent  a  secretary  with  Gordon's 
letters  and  reams  of  written  explanations  of  his  conduct  to 
the  permanent  head  of  the  War  Office,  a  friend,  a  firm  disci- 
plinarian, but  a  man  of  strong  humanity.  Why  had  the 
prisoner  refused  to  plead  ?  Because  he  did  not  wish  to 
accuse  his  dead  General.  Why  had  he  made  no  explanation 
of  his  desertion  and  of  his  conduct  at  the  time  of  his  arrest? 
Because  he  did  not  wish  to  impeach  his  father.  Why  had  he 
intercepted  an  order  of  the  army?  Because  he  had  been 
inspired  solely  by  a  desire  to  prevent  the  tumultous  effusion 
of  blood,  and  he  had  prevented  it. 

Finally,  as  a  technical  point  of  the  highest  importance, 
could  it  be  deemed  that  the  troops  in  Egypt  were  on  active 
service  when  there  was  no  declaration  to  that  effect  such  as 
Section  189  (2)  of  the  Army  Act  required? 


THE    DAWN  571 

Within  two  days  everything  was  done,  and  then  there 
■was  nothing  left  but  to  await  results.  Helena  wanted  to 
go  up  to  see  Gordon,  but  she  was  afraid  to  do  so.  When 
sorrow  is  shared  it  is  lessened,  but  suspense  that  is  divided 
is  increased. 

After  five  days  the  Sirdar  began  to  hear  from  London 
and  to  send  his  news  to  Helena  over  the  telephone.  The 
matter  was  to  be  submitted  to  his  Majesty  personally — had 
she  any  objection  to  the  King  seeing  Gordon's  letters  ?  So 
very  intimate?  Well,  what  of  that?  The  King  was  a  good 
fellow,  and  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  that  touched 
him  30  nearly  as  a  beautiful  woman,  except  a  woman  in 
love  and  in  trouble. 

Then  came  two  days  of  grim,  unbroken  silence  and  then 
— a  burst  of  great  news. 

In  consideration  of  Colonel  Lord's  distinguished  record 
as  a  soldier  and  his  unblemished  character  as  a  man,  out  of 
regard  to  the  obvious  purity  of  his  intentions  and  the  un- 
doubted fact  that  the  order  he  disobeyed  had  led  to  irre- 
parable results,  remembering  the  great  provocation  he  had 
received,  and  not  forgetting  the  valuable  services  rendered 
by  his  father  to  England  and  to  Egypt,  the  King  had  been 
graciously  pleased  to  grant  him  a  free  pardon ! 

This  coming  first  as  a  private  message  from  the  head 
of  the  War  Office,  threw  the  Sirdar  into  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 
He  called  up  the  Consul-General  immediately  and  repeated 
the  glad  words  over  the  telephone,  but  no  answer  came  back 
to  him  except  the  old  man's  audible  breathing  as  it  quivered 
through  the  wires. 

Then  he  thought  of  Helena,  but  with  a  soldier's  terror 
of  tears  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman,  even  tears  of  joy,  he  decided 
to  let  Hafiz  carry  the  news  to  her. 

"  Tell  her  to  go  up  to  the  Citadel  and  break  the  good 
tidings  to  Gordon,"  he  said,  speaking  to  Egyptian  headquar- 
ters. 

Nothing  loath,  Hafiz  went  bounding  along  to  the  house 
of  the  Princess  and  blurted  out  his  big  message,  expecting 
that  it  would  be  received  with  shouts  of  delight,  but  to  his 
bewilderment  Helena  heard  it  with  fear  and  trembling,  and, 


572  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

becoming  weak  and  womanish  all  at  once,  she  seemed  to  be 
about  to  faint. 

Hafiz,  with  proper  masculine  simplicity,  became  alarmed 
at  this,  but  the  Princess  began  to  laugh. 

"  What !  "  she  cried.  "  You,  that  have  been  as  brave  as 
a  lion  with  her  cub  while  your  man's  life  has  been  in  danger, 
to  go  mooing  now — no^v — like  a  cow  with  a  sick  calf!" 

Helena  recovered  herself  after  a  moment,  and  then  Hafiz 
delivered  the  Sirdar's  mandate  that  she  was  to  go  up  to 
the  Citadel  and  break  the  good  news  to  Gordon. 

"  But  I  daren't,  I  daren't,"  she  said,  still  trembling. 

"  What !  "  cried  the  Princess  again.  "  Not  go  and  get 
the  kisses  and  hugs  that —  Well,  what  a  dunce  I  was  to 
have  that  silver  gray  of  yours  made  so  tight  about  the  waist ! 
For  two  pins  I  would  put  on  your  black  veil  and  go  up 
myself  and  take  all  the  young  man  has  to  give  a  woman." 

Helena  smiled  (a  watery  smile)  and  declared  she  would 
go  if  Hafiz  would  go  with  her.  Hafiz  was  ready,  and  in 
less  than  half  an  hour  they  were  driving  up  to  the  Citadel 
in  the  Princess's  carriage  with  the  footmen  and  sais  and 
eunuch  which  her  Highness,  for  all  her  emancipation, 
thought  necessary  to  female  propriety  in  public. 

Everything  went  well  until  they  reached  the  fortress, 
and  then,  going  up  the  stone  staircase  to -Gordon's  quarters, 
Helena  began  to  tremble  more  than  ever. 

"  Oh !  Oh !  I  daren't !  I  must  go  home,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Lord,  no,  not  now,"  said  Hafiz.  "  Kemember,  up  there 
is  some  one  who  thinks  he  is  going  to  die,  while  here  are 
we  who  know  he  isn't,  and  that  life  will  be  doubly  sweet 
if  it's  you  that  take  it  back  to  him.    Come,  sister,  come !  " 

"  Give  me  your  arm,  then,"  said  Helena,  and,  panting 
with  emotion  and  perilously  near  to  the  edge  of  tears,  she 
went  up  on  shaking  limbs  to  a  door  at  which  two  soldiers, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  were  standing  on  guard. 

At  that  moment  Gordon,  in  the  officer's  bright  room 
which  had  been  given  to  him  as  a  cell,  was  leaning  on 
the  sill  of  the  open  window  and  looking  steadfastly  down 
at  some  object  in  the  white  city  below.     During  the  past 


THE    DAWN  573 

six  days  he  had  known  what  was  being  done  on  his  behalf, 
and  the  desire  for  life,  which  he  had  believed  to  be  dead  in 
him,  had  quickened  to  suspense  and  pain. 

To  ease  both  feelings  he  had  smoked  innumerable  cig- 
arettes and  made  pretence  of  reading  the  illustrated  papers 
which  his  brother  officers  had  poured  in  upon  him,  out  of 
their  otherwise  dumb  and  helpless  sympathy.  But  every 
few  minutes  of  every  day  he  had  leaned  out  of  the  window 
to  look  first,  with  a  certain  pang,  at  the  heavy-lidded  house 
which  contained  his  father;  next,  with  a  certain  sense  of 
tears,  at  a  green  spot  covered  with  cypress  trees  which 
contained  all  that  was  left  of  his  mother,  and  finally,  with 
a  certain  yearning,  at  the  trellised  Eastern  palace  of  the 
Princess  Nazimah  which  contained  Helena. 

This  is  what  he  was  doing  at  the  moment  when  Helena 
and  Hafiz  were  ascending  the  stairs,  and  just  as  he  was 
asking  himself  for  the  hundredth  time  why  Helena  did 
not  come  to  see  him  he  heard  his  guard's  gruff  tones  mingled 
with  a  woman's  mellow  voice.        ^ 

A  deep  note  among  the  soft  ones  sent  all  the  blood  in 
his  body  galloping  to  his  heart,  and  turning  round  he  saw 
the  door  of  his  room  open  and  Helena  herself  on  the 
threshold. 

One  moment  she  stood  there,  with  her  sweet,  careworn 
face  growing  red  in  her  passion  of  joy,  and  then  she  rushed 
at  him  and  fell  on  his  breast,  throwing  both  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  crying: 

"  Such  news,  Gordon !  Oh,  my  Gordon,  I  bring  you 
such  good,  good  news!  Such  news,  dear!  Such  news,  oh, 
such  good,  good  news ! " 

Thus  trying  to  tell  her  tidings  at  a  breath,  she  told  him 
nothing,  but  continued  to  laugh  and  sob  and  kiss  and  say 
what  good  news  she  brought  him. 

Yet  words  were  needless,  and  before  Hafiz,  whose  fat, 
wet  face  was  shining  like  a  round  window  on  an  April  day, 
could  whisper  "  the  King's  Pardon,"  Gordon,  like  the  true 
lover  he  was,  had  said,  and  had  meant  it : 

"  But  you  bring  me  nothing  so  good  as  yourself,  dearest 
— nothing !  " 


574  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 


XV 


Helena  was  with  Gordon  the  following  morning  when 
one  of  the  guard  came  in  hurriedly  and  announced,  amid 
gusts  of  breath,  that  the  Consul-General  was  coming  up- 
stairs. 

Not  without  a  certain  nervousness  Gordon  rose  to 
receive  his  father,  bvit  he  met  him  at  the  door  with  both 
hands  outstretched.  The  old  man  took  one  of  them  quietly, 
with  the  air  of  a  person  who  was  struggling  hard  to  hold 
himself  in  check.  He  took  Helena's  hand  also,  and  when 
she  would  have  left  the  room  he  prevented  her. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  sit  down,  my  child,  resume  your 
seat." 

It  seemed  to  Gordon  that  his  father  looked  whiter  and 
feebler,  yet  even  firmer  of  will  than  before,  like  a  lion  that 
had  been  shot  and  was  dying  hard.  His  lips  were  compressed 
as  he  took  the  chair  which  Gordon  offered  him,  and  when 
he  spoke  his  voice  was  hard  and  a  little  bitter. 

"  First,  let  me  give  you  good  news,"  he  said. 

"  Is  it  the  pardon?  "  asked  Gordon. 

"  No,  something  else — perhaps,  in  a  sense,  something 
better,"  said  the  old  man. 

He  had  received  an  unofficial  message  from  the  War 
Office  to  say  that  the  King,  taking  no  half-measures,  in- 
tended to  promote  Gordon  to  the  rank  of  Major-General  and 
appoint  him  to  the  Command  of  the  British  Forces  in 
Egypt. 

Helena  could  hardly  contain  her  joy  at  this  fresh  proof 
of  good  fortune,  but  Gordon  made  no  demonstration.  He 
watched  the  pained  expression  in  the  old  man's  face,  and 
felt  sure  that  something  else  was  coming. 

"  It's  a  remarkable,  perhaps  unparalleled  instance 
of  clemency,"  continued  the  Consul-General,  "  and  under 
the  circumstances  it  may  be  said  to  open  up  as  momen- 
tous a  mission  as  was  ever  confided  to  a  military  com- 
mander." 


THE    DAWN  575 

"And  you,  father?"  asked  Gordon,  not  without  an 
effort. 

The  old  man  laughed.  A  flush  overspread  his  pale  face 
for  a  moment.     Then  he  said : 

"  I  ?    Oh,  I— I  am  dismissed." 

"  Dismissed? " 

Gordon  had  gasped.    Helena's  lips  had  parted. 

"  That's  what  it  comes  to — stated  in  plain  words  and 
without  diplomatic  flourishes.  True,  I  had  sent  in  my 
resignation,  but —  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that 
after  a  debate  on  the  Address,  and  the  carrying  of  an  amend- 
ment. Downing  Street  has  agreed  that  the  time  has  come 
to  associate  the  people  of  Egypt  in  the  government  of  the 
country." 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  Well,  as  that  is  a  policy  against  which  I  have  always 
set  my  face,  a  policy  I  have  considered  premature,  perhaps 
suicidal,  the  Secretary  of  State  has  cabled  that,  being  unable 
to  ask  me  to  carry  into  effect  a  change  that  is  repugnant 
to  my  principles,  he  is  reluctantly  compelled  to  accept  my 
resignation." 

Gordon  could  not  speak,  but  again  the  old  man  tried  to 
laugh. 

"  Of  course  the  pill  is  gilded,"  he  continued,  clasping  his 
blue-veined  hands  in  front  of  his  breast.  "  The  Foreign 
Secretary  told  Parliament  that  my  resignation  (on  the 
ground  of  age  and  ill  health,  naturally)  was  the  heaviest 
blow  that  had  fallen  on  English  public  life  within  living 
memory.  He  also  said  that  while  other  methods  might  be 
necessary  for  the  future,  none  could  have  been  so  good  as 
mine  in  the  past.    And  then  the  King " 

"Yes,  father?" 

A  hard,  half-ironical  smile  passed  over  the  old  man's 
face. 

"  The  King  has  been  graciously  pleased  to  grant  me  an 
Earldom  and  even  make  me  a  Knight  of  the  Garter." 

There  was  a  moment's  painful  silence,  and  then  the 
Consul-General  said: 

"  So  I  go  home  immediately." 


576  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

"  Immediately  ?  " 

"  By  to-night's  train  to  take  the  P.  &  0.  to-morrow," 
bowing  over  his  clasped  hands. 

"  To-morrow  ? " 

"  Why  not  ?  My  secretaries  can  do  without  me.  Why 
should  I  linger  on  a  stage  on  which  I  am  no  longer  a  leading 
actor,  but  only  a  supernumerary-?  Better  make  my  exit  with 
what  grace  I  can." 

Under  the  semi-cynical  tone  Gordon  could  see  his  father's 
emotion.     He  found  it  impossible  to  utter  a  word. 

"  But  I  thought  I  would  come  up  before  going  away  and 
bring  you  the  good  news  myself,  though  it  is  almost  like  a 
father  who  is  deposed  congratulating  the  son  who  is  to 
take  his  place." 

"  Don't  say  that,  sir,"  said  Gordon. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  And  why  should  I  gird  at  my 
fortune?  It's  strange,  nevertheless,  how  history  repeats 
itself.  I  came  to  Egypt  to  wipe  out  the  misrule  of  Ismail 
Pasha,  and  now,  like  Ismail,  I  must  leave  my  son  be- 
hind me." 

There  was  a  moment  of  strained  silence,  and  then : 

"  I  have  often  wondered  what  took  place  at  that  secret 
meeting  between  Ismail  and  Tewfik,  when  we  made  the  son 
Khedive  and  sent  the  father  back  to  Constantinople.  Xow 
I  think  I  know." 

The  old  man's  emotion  was  cutting  deep.  Gordon  could 
scarcely  bear  to  look  at  him. 

"  I  wish  you  well,  Gordon,  and  only  hope  these  people 
may  be  more  grateful  to  you  than  they  have  been  to  me. 
God  grant  it !  " 

Gordon  could  not  speak. 

"  I  confess  I  have  no  faith  in  the  proposed  change.  I 
think  all  such  concessions  are  so  many  sops  to  sedition. 
I  also  think  that  to  have  raised  the  masses  of  a  subject  race 
from  abject  misery  to  well-being,  and  then  to  allow  them 
to  fall  back  to  their  former  condition,  as  they  surely  will, 
and  to  become  the  victims  of  the  worst  elements  among 
themselves,  is  not  only  foolish  but  utterly  wrong  and 
wicked." 


THE    DAWN  577 

The  old  man  rose,  and  in  the  intensity  of  his  feelings 
began  to  pace  to  and  fro. 

"  They  talk  about  the  despotism  of  the  One-Man  rule," 
he  said.  "  What  about  the  despotism  of  their  Parliaments, 
their  Congresses,  their  Reichstags — the  worst  despotisms  in 
the  world?  Fools!  Why  can't  they  see  that  the  difference 
between  the  democracy  of  Europe  and  America  and  the 
government  proper  to  the  ancient,  slavish,  and  slow-moving 
civilisation  of  the  East  is  fundamental?  " 

The  old  man's  lips  stiffened  and  then  he  said: 

"  But  perhaps  I  am  only  an  antiquated  person,  behind 
the  new  age  and  the  new  ideas.  If  so,  I'm  satisfied.  I  belong 
to  the  number  of  those  who  have  always  thought  it  the  duty 
of  great  nations  to  carry  the  light  of  civilisation  into  dark 
continents,  and  I  am  not  sorry  to  be  left  behind  by  the 
cranks  who  would  legislate  for  all  men  alike.  Pshaw !  You 
might  as  well  tailorise_for  all  men  alike,  and  put  clothes  of 
the  same  pattern  on  all  mankind." 

Again  the  old  man  laughed. 

"  It's  part  and  parcel  of  the  preposterous  American  doc- 
trine that  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal — the  doctrine  that 
made  the  United  States  enfranchise  as  well  as  emancipate 
their  blacks.     May  the  results  be  no  worse  in  this  case !  " 

There  was  another  moment  of  strained  silence,  and  then 
the  Consul-General  said : 

"  I  suppose  they'll  say  the  man  Ishmael  has  beaten  me." 
He  gave  a  contemptuous  but  almost  inaudible  laugh, 
and  then  added :  "  Let  them ;  they're  welcome ;  time  will  tell. 
Anyhow,  I  do  not  lament.  When  a  man  is  old  his  useless 
life  must  burn  itself  out.  That's  only  natural.  And  after 
all,  I've  seen  too  much  of  power  to  regret  the  loss  of  it." 

Still  Gordon  could  not  speak.  He  was  feeling  how  great 
bis  father  was  in  his  downfall,  how  brave,  how  proud,  how 
splendid. 

The  old  man  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  with 
fixed  eyes.     After  a  moment  he  turned  back  and  said: 

"  All  the  same,  Gordon,  I  am  glad  of  what  has  hap- 
pene<l  for  your  sake — sincerely  glad.  You've  not  always 
been  with  me,  but  you've  won,  and  I  do  not   grudge  you 


578  THE    -WTIITE    PROPHET 

your  victory.  Indeed,"  he  added,  and  here  his  voice  trembled 
perceptibly,  "  I  am  a  little  proud  of  it.  Yes,  proud !  An 
old  man  cannot  be  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  his  son  has 
won  the  hearts  of  twelve  millions  of  people,  even  though — 
even  though  he  himself  may  have  lost  them." 

Gordon's  throat  was  hurting  him  and  Helena's  eyes  were 
full  of  tears.  The  old  man,  too,  was  struggling  to  control 
his  voice. 

"  You  thought  Nunehamism  wasn't  synonymous  with 
patriotism.  Perhaps  you  were  right.  You  believed  yourself 
to  be  the  better  Englishman  of  the  two.  I  don't  say  you 
were  not.  And  it  may  be  that  in  her  present  mind  England 
will  think  that  one  secret  withheld  from  me  has  been  re- 
vealed to  you — namely,  that  an  alien  race  can  only  be  ruled 
by — by  love.  Yes,  I'm  glad  for  your  sake,  Gordon,  and  as  for 
me — I  leave  myself  to  Time  and  Fate." 

The  old  man's  pride  in  his  son's  success  was  fighting 
hard  with  his  own  humiliation.  After  a  while  Gordon  recov- 
ered strength  enough  to  ask  his  father  what  he  meant  to  do 
in  England. 

"Who  can  say?"  answered  the  Consul-General,  lifting 
one  hand  with  a  gesture  of  helplessness.  "  I  have  spent  the 
best  years  of  my  life  in  Egypt.  What  is  England  to  me 
now?     Home?    No,  exile." 

He  had  moved  to  the  window  again,  and  following  the 
direction  of  his  eyes  Gordon  could  sec  that  he  was  looking 
toward  the  cypress  trees  which  shaded  the  English  cemetery 
of  Cairo. 

A  deep  and  profound  silence  ensued,  and,  feeling  as  if 
his  mother's  angel  were  passing  through  the  room,  Gordon 
dropped  his  head  and  tears  leaped  to  his  eyes. 

It  was  the  first  time  father  and  son  had  been  together 
since  the  tcnderest  link  that  had  bound  them  had  been 
broken,  but  while  both  were  thinking  of  this  neither  of 
them  could  trust  himself  to  speak  of  it. 

".Timet,  your  dream  has  come  true!  ITow  happy  you 
would  have  been !  "  thought  the  Consul-General,  while  Gor- 
don, unable  to  unravel  the  intricacies  of  his  emotions,  was 
saying  to  himself,  "  Mother!    My  sweet  mother!  " 


THE    DAWN  579 

The  last  moment  came  and  it  was  a  very  moving  one. 
Up  from  some  hidden  depths  of  the  old  man's  oceanic  soul 
there  came  a  certain  joy.  In  spite  of  all  that  he  in  his  blind- 
ness had  done  to  prevent  it,  by  the  operation  of  the  inscru- 
table powers  that  had  controlled  his  destiny,  the  great  hope 
of  his  life  was  about  to  be  realised.  Gordon  and  Helena 
had  been  brought  together,  and  as  he  looked  at  them,  stand- 
ing side  by  side  when  they  rose  to  bid  farewell  to  him,  the 
man  so  brave  and  fearless,  the  girl  so  fine  and  beautiful,  he 
thought,  with  a  thrill  of  the  heart,  that,  whatever  might 
happen  to  himself — old,  worn-out,  fallen  perhaps,  his  life 
ended — yet  would  his  line  go  on  in  the  time  to  come,  pure, 
clean  and  strong,  and  the  name  of  Nuneham  be  written  high 
in  the  history  of  his  country. 

Holding  out  a  hand  to  each,  he  looked  steadily  into  their 
faces  for  a  moment,  while  he  said  his  silent  good-bye.  Not 
a  word,  not  the  quiver  of  an  eyelid.  It  was  the  English 
gentleman  coming  out  top  in  the  end,  firm,  stern,  heroic. 

Before  Gordon  and  Helena  seemed  to  be  aware  of  it, 
the  old  man  was  gone,  and  they  heard  the  rumble  of  the 
wheels  of  his  carriage  as  it  passed  out  of  the  courtyard. 


XVI 

At  nightfall  the  great  Proconsul  left  Cairo.  He  knew 
that  all  day  long  the  telegraphic  agencies  had  been  busy 
with  messages  from  London  about  his  resignation.  He 
also  knew  that  after  the  first  thunderclap  of  surprise  the 
Egyptian  population  had  concluded  that  he  had  been  recalled 
— recalled  in  disgrace  and  at  the  petition  of  the  Khedive 
to  the  King. 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  prepare  for  his  departure. 
In  the  course  of  an  hour  Ibrahim  was  able  to  pack  up  the 
few  personal  effects — how  few! — which,  during  the  longest 
residence,  gather  about  the  house  of  a  servant  of  the  State. 

Perhaps  the  acutest  of  his  feelings  on  leaving  Egypt 
came  to  him  as  he  drove  in  a  closed  carriage  out  of  the 


580  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

grounds  of  the  Agency  and  looked  up  for  the  last  time  at 
the  windows  of  the  room  that  used  to  be  occupied  by  his 
wife.  At  that  moment  he  felt  something  of  the  dumb 
desolation  which  rolls  over  the  strongest  souls  when,  after 
a  lifetime  of  comradeship,  the  asundering  comes  and  they 
long  for  the  voice  that  is  still. 

Poor  Janet !  He  must  leave  all  that  remained  of  her 
behind  him  under  the  tall  cypress  trees  on  the  edge  of  the 
Nile.  Yet  no,  not  all,  for  he  was  carrying  away  the  better 
part  of  her — her  pure  soul  and  saintly  memory — within  him. 
!N^one  the  less,  that  moment  of  parting  brought  the  old 
man  nearer  than  he  had  ever  been  to  the  sense  of  tears  in 
mortal  things. 

The  Sirdar  had  accompanied  him,  but  though  the  fact 
of  his  intended  departure  had  become  known,  having  been 
announced  in  all  the  evening  papers,  there  was  nobody  at 
the  station  to  bid  adieu  to  him,  not  a  member  of  the  Khe- 
dive's entourage;  not  one  of  the  Egyptian  Ministers,  and 
eyen  none  of  the  Advisers  and  Under-Secretaries  whom  he 
had  himself  created. 

Xever  had  there  lived  a  more  self-centred  and  self-suffi- 
cient man,  but  this  fact  cut  him  to  the  quick.  He  had  done 
what  he  believed  to  be  his  duty  in  Egypt,  and  feeling  that 
he  was  neglected  and  forgotten  at  the  end,  the  ingratitude 
of  those  whom  he  had  served  went  like  poison  into  his  soul. 

To  escape  from  the  sense  of  it  he  began  to  talk  with 
a  bitter  raillery  which  in  a  weaker  man  would  have  expressed 
itself  in  tears,  and  seemed  indeed  to  have  tears — glittering, 
frozen  tears — behind  it. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear  Reg,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  to-night 
as  if  I  might  be  another  incai'nation  of  your  friend  Pontius 
Pilate.  Like  him,  I  am  being  withdrawn,  you  see,  and  ap- 
parently for  the  same  reason.  And — who  knows? — perhaps 
like  him,  too,  I  am  destined  to  earn  the  maledictions  of 
mankind." 

The  Sirdar  found  the  old  man's  irony  intensely  afPecting, 
and  therefore  he  made  no  protest. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  ashamed  of  the  comparison,  if  it  means 
that  against  all  forms  of  anarchy  I  have  belonged  to  the 


THE    DAWN  581 

party  of  order,  though  of  course  there  will  be  some  wise 
heads  that  will  see  the  finger  of  heaven  in  what  has  hap- 
pened." 

The  strong  man,  with  his  fortunes  sunk  to  zero,  was 
defiant  to  the  very  edge  and  last  hour  of  calamity.  But 
standing  on  the  platform  by  the  door  of  the  compartment 
that  had  been  reserved  for  him,  he  looked  round  at  length 
and  said — all  his  irony,  all  his  raillery  suddenly  gone: 

"  Reg,  I  have  given  forty  years  of  my  life  to  these  peo- 
ple, and  there  is  not  one  of  them  to  see  me  off." 

The  Sirdar  tried  his  best  to  cheer  him,  saying: 

"  England  remembers,  though,  and  if — "  but  the  old  man 
looked  into  his  face  and  his  next  words  died  on  his  lips. 

The  engine  was  getting  up  steam,  and  its  rhythmic  throb 
was  shaking  the  glass  roof  overhead  when  Gordon  and  Hafiz, 
wearing  their  military  great-coats,  came  up  the  platform. 
They  had  carefully  timed  it  to  arrive  at  the  last  moment. 
A  gleam  of  light  came  into  the  father's  face  at  the  sight 
of  his  son.  Gordon  stepped  up,  Hafiz  fell  back.  Lord  Nune- 
ham  entered  the  carriage. 

"Well,  good-bye,  old  friend,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking 
hands  waimly  with  the  Sirdar.  "  I  may  see  you  again — in 
my  exile  in  England,  you  know." 

Then  he  turned  to  Gordon  and  took  his  outstretched 
hand.  Father  and  son  stood  face  to  face  for  the  last  time. 
Xot  a  word  was  spoken.  There  was  a  long,  firm,  quivering 
hand-clasp — and  that  was  all.  At  the  next  moment  the 
train  was  gone. 

The  Sirdar,  who  had  stood  watching  it  until  it  disap- 
peared, then  turned  to  Gordon,  and,  thinking  of  the  England 
the  Consul-General  had  loved,  the  England  he  had  held  high, 
he  said,  speaking  of  him  as  if  he  were  already  dead: 

"  After  all,  my  boy,  your  father  was  one  of  the  great 
Englishmen." 

Gordon  could  not  answer  him,  and  after  a  while  they 
shook  hands  and  separated.  The  two  young  soldiers  walked 
back  to  the  Citadel  through  the  native  streets.  The 
"  Nights  of  the  Prophet  "  were  nearly  over  and  the  illumina- 
tions were  being  put  out. 
33 


582  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Hafiz  talked  about  the  Khedive — he  had  just  arrived  at 
Khubbah.  Then  about  Ishmael — the  Prophet  had  shut 
himself  up  in  the  Chancellor's  house  and  was  pemiitting 
nobody  to  see  him. 

"  His  Highness  has  asked  Ishmael  to  be  Imam  to-mor- 
row morning,  but  it  is  thought  that  he  is  ill — it  is  even 
whispered  that  he  is  going  mad,"  said  Hafiz. 

Gordon  did  not  speak  until  they  reached  the  foot  of  the 
hill.     Then  he  said  : 

"  I  must  go  up  and  lie  down.  Good-night,  old  fellow ! 
God  bless  you !  " 


XVII 

Half  an  hour  before,  Gordon's  guard,  now  transformed 
into  his  soldier  servant,  had  been  startled  by  the  appear- 
ance of  an  Egyptian,  wearing  the  flowing  white  robes  of  a 
Sheikh  and  asking  in  almost  faultless  English  for  Colonel 
Lord. 

"  The  Colonel  has  gone  to  the  station  to  see  his  Lord- 
ship off  to  England,  but  I'm  expecting  him  back  presently," 
said  the  orderly. 

"  I'll  wait,"  said  the  Sheikh,  and  the  orderly  showed  him 
into  Gordon's  room. 

"Looks  like  a  bloomin'  death's  head!  Wonder  if  he's 
the  bloomin'   Prophet   they're  jawrin'   about!" 

Since  coming  into  Cairo  Ishmael  had  been  a  prey  to 
thoughts  that  were  indeed  akin  to  madness.  Perhaps  he 
was  seized  by  one  of  those  nervous  maladies  in  which  a 
man  no  longer  belongs  to  himself.  Certainly  he  suffered 
the  pangs  of  heart  and  brain  which  come  only  to  the  purest 
and  most  spiritual  souls  in  their  darkest  hours  and  seem 
to  make  it  literally  true  that  their  tortured  spirits  descend 
into  hell. 

Now  that  his  anxiety  for  his  followers  was  relaxed  and 
•their  hopes  had  in  some  measure  been  realised,  his  mind 
swung  back  to  the  sorrowful  decay  and  ruin  that  had  fallen 


THE    DAWN  583 

upon  himself.  It  was  no  longer  the  shanae  of  the  prophet 
but  the  bereavement  of  the  man  that  tormented  him.  His 
lacerated  heart  left  him  no  power  of  thinking  or  feeling 
anything  but  the  loss  of  Helena. 

Again  he  saw  her  beaming  eyes,  her  long  black  lashes, 
and  her  smiling  mouth.  Again  he  heard  her  voice  and 
again  the  sweet  perfume  of  her  presence  seemed  to  be  about 
him.  That  all  this  was  lost  to  him  forever,  that  hence- 
forth he  had  to  put  away  from  him  all  the  sweetness,  all 
the  beauty,  all  the  tenderness  of  a  woman's  life  linked  with 
his,  brought  him  a  paroxysm  of  pain  in  which  it  seemed 
as  if  his  heart  would  break  and  die. 

He  recalled  the  promises  he  had  made  to  himself,  of 
taking  up  the  life  of  a  man  when  his  work  was  done.  His 
work  was  done  now — in  some  sort  ended  at  all  events — but 
the  prize  he  had  promised  himself  had  been  snatched  away. 
She  was  gone,  she  who  had  been  all  his  joy.  An  impassable 
gulf  divided  them.  The  infinite  radiance  of  hope  and  love 
that  was  to  have  crowned  his  restless  and  stormy  life  had 
disappeared.  Henceforth  he  must  walk  through  the  world 
alone. 

"  O  God!  can  it  be? "  he  asked  himself,  with  the  startled 
agony  of  one  who  awakes  from  a  single-pillowed  sleep  and 
remembers  that  he  is  bereaved. 

If  anything  had  been  necessary  to  make  his  position 
intolerable,  it  came  with  the  thought  that  all  this  was  due 
to  the  treachery  of  the  man  he  had  loved  and  trusted,  the 
man  he  had  believed  to  be  his  friend  and  brother,  the  one 
being,  besides  the  woman,  who  had  gone  to  his  heart  of 
hearts.  The  Rani  had  confessed  to  him  that  she  loved 
"  Omar,"  and  notwithstanding  that  all  his  life  he  had  strug- 
gled to  liberate  himself  from  the  prejudices  of  his  race, 
yet  now,  in  the  melancholy  broodings  of  his  Eastern  brain, 
he  could  not  escape  from  the  conclusion  that  the  only  love 
possible  between  a  man  and  the  wife  of  another  was  guilty 
love. 

When  he  thought  of  that,  both  body  and  soul  seemed 
to  be  afire,  and  he  became  conscious  of  a  feeling  about 
"  Omar,"   which   he  had   never  experienced   before   toward 


584  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

any  human  creature — a  feeling  of  furious  and  inextin- 
guishable hatred. 

He  began  to  be  afraid  of  himself,  and  just  as  a  dog  will 
shun  its  kind  and  hide  itself  from  sight  when  it  feels  the 
poison  of  madness  working  in  its  blood,  so  Ishmael  under 
the  secret  trouble  which  he  dared  reveal  to  none,  shut  him- 
self up  in  his  sleeping  room  in  the  old  Chancellor's  house. 

It  was  a  small  and  silent  chamber  at  the  back,  overlook- 
ing a  little  paved  courtyard  containing  a  well  and  bounded 
by  a  very  high  wall  that  shut  off  sight  and  sound  of  the 
city  outside.  Once  a  day  an  old  man  in  a  blue  galabeah 
came  into  the  court  to  draw  water,  and  twice  a  day  a  servant 
of  the  Sheikh's  came  into  the  room  with  food.  Save  for 
these  two,  and  the  old  Chancellor  himself  at  intervals,  Ish- 
mael saw  no  one  for  nine  days,  and  in  the  solitude  and  semi- 
darkness  of  his  self-imposed  prison  a  hundred  phantoms 
were  bred  in  his  distempered  brain. 

On  the  second  day  after  his  retirement  the  Chancellor 
came  to  tell  him  that  his  emissary,  his  missionary,  "  Omar 
Benani,"  had  been  identified  on  his  arrest,  that  in  his  true 
character  as  Colonel  Lord  he  was  to  be  tried  by  his  fellow- 
officers  for  his  supposed  offences  as  a  soldier  at  the  time 
of  the  assault  on  El  Azhar  and  that  the  only  sentence  that 
could  possibly  be  passed  upon  him  would  be  death.  At  this 
news,  which  the  Chancellor  delivered  with  a  sad  face,  Ish- 
mael felt  a  fierce  but  secret  joy. 

"  God's  arm  is  long,"  he  told  himself.  "  He  allowed  the 
man  to  escape  while  his  aims  were  good,  but  now  he  is 
going  to  punish  him  for  his  treachery  and  deceit." 

Three  days  afterward,  the  old  Chancellor  came  again  to 
say  that  Colonel  Lord  had  been  tried  and  condemned  to 
death,  as  everybody  had  foreseen  and  expected,  but  never- 
theless the  sympathy  of  all  men  was  with  him,  because  he 
was  seen  to  have  acted  from  the  noblest  motives,  with- 
standing his  own  father  for  what  he  believed  to  be  the 
right,  and  exposing  himself  to  the  charge  of  being  a  bad 
son  and  a  bad  patriot  in  order  to  prevent  bloodshed;  that 
he  had  indeed  prevented  bloodshed  by  preventing  a  col- 
lision of  the  British  and  Native  armies,  that  it  had  been 


THE    DAWN  585 

by  his  efforts  that  the  pilgrimage  had  been  able  to  enter 
Cairo  in  peace;  and  that  in  recognition  of  the  great  sac- 
rifice made  by  the  Christian  soldier  for  the  love  of  human- 
ity, the  Ulema  wore  joining  with  others  in  petitioning  his 
King  to  pardon  him. 

At  this  news  a  chill  came  over  Ishmael.  His  heart  grew 
cold  as  stone,  and  when  the  Chancellor  was  gone,  he  found 
himself  praying: 

"Forbid  it,  0  God,  forbid  it!  Let  not  Thy  justice  be 
taken  out  of  Thine  awful  hands !  " 

Four  days  later  the  old  Chancellor  came  yet  again  to  say 
that  the  King's  pardon  had  been  granted ;  that  Colonel  Lord 
was  free;  that  the  people  were  rejoicing;  that  everybody  at- 
tributed the  happy  issue  of  the  Christian's  case  mainly  to 
zealous  efforts  on  his  behalf  of  the  woman  who  loved  him, 
the  daughter  of  the  dead  General  whose  unwise  command 
had  been  the  cause  of  all  his  trouble;  and  finally  that  it 
was  expected  that  these  two  would  soon  heal  their  family 
feud  by  marriage. 

At  this  news  Ishmael's  tortured  heart  was  aflame  and  his 
brain  was  reeling.  The  thought  that  "  Omar "  was  not  to 
be  punished,  that  he  was  to  be  honoured,  that  he  was  to  be 
made  happy,  filled  him  with  passions  never  felt  before.  Be- 
hind the  strongest  and  most  spiritual  soul  there  lurks  a 
wild  beast  that  seems  to  be  ever  waiting  to  destroy  it,  and 
in  the  torment  of  Ishmael's  heart  the  thought  came  to  him 
that  as  his  earthly  judges  were  permitting  the  guilty  one  to 
escape  God  called  on  him  to  punish  the  man. 

Irresistible  as  the  thought  was  it  brought  a  feeling  of 
indescribable  dread.  "  I  must  be  going  mad,"  he  told  him- 
self, remembering  how  he  had  spent  his  life  in  the  cause 
of  peace.  All  day  long  he  fought  against  a  hatred  that  was 
now  so  fierce  that  it  seemed  as  if  death  alone  could  satisfy 
it.  His  soul  wrestled  with  it,  baffled  for  life  against  it, 
and  at  length  conquered  it,  and  he  rose  from  his  knees 
saying  to  himself: 

"No;  vengeance  belongs  to  God!  When  did  He  ask  for 
my  hand  to  execute  it  ? " 

But  the  compulsion  of  great  passion  was  driving  him 


586  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

on,  and  after  dismissing  the  thought  of  his  own  wrongs 
he  began  to  think  of  the  Rani's.  Where  was  she  now? 
What  had  become  of  her?  He  dared  not  ask.  Ashamed, 
humiliated,  abased,  he  had  become  so  sensitive  to. pain  on 
the  subject  of  the  woman  whom  he  had  betrothed,  the  wom- 
an who  had  betrayed  him,  the  woman  he  still  loved  in  spite 
of  everything,  that  he  was  even  afraid  that  some  one  might 
speak  of  her. 

But  in  the  light  of  what  the  Chancellor  had  said  about 
the  daughter  of  the  General,  he  pictured  the  Rani  as  a  re- 
jected and  abandoned  woman.  This  thought  was  at  first 
so  painful  that  it  deprived  him  of  the  free  use  of  his 
faculties.  He  could  not  see  anything  plainly.  His  mind 
was  a  battlefield  of  confused  sights,  half  hidden  in  clouds 
of  smoke.  That  after  all  the  Rani  had  sacrificed  for 
"  Omar " — her  husband,  her  happiness  and  her  honour 
— she  should  be  cast  aside  for  another — this  was  mad- 
dening. 

He  asked  himself  what  he  was  to  do.  Find  her  and 
take  her  back?  Impossible!  Her  heart  was  gone  from  him. 
She  would  continue  to  love  the  other  man  whatever  he 
might  do  to  her.  That  was  the  way  of  all  women — Allah 
pity  and  bless  them ! 

Then  a  flash  of  illumination  came  to  him  in  the  long 
interval  of  his  darkness.  He  would  liberate  the  Rani,  and 
the  man  she  loved  should  marry  her!  No  matter  if  she  be- 
longed to  another  race — he  should  marry  her!  ISTo  matter 
if  she  belonged  to  another  faith — he  should  marry  her! 
And  as  for  himself — his  sacrifice  should  he  his  revenge! 

"  Yes,  that  shall  be  my  revenge,"  he  thought. 

This,  in  the  wild  fire  of  his  heart  and  brain,  was  the 
thought  with  which  Ishmael  had  come  to  Gordon's  door,  and 
being  shown  into  the  soldier's  room  he  sat  for  some  time 
without  looking  about  him.  Then  raising  his  eyes  and 
gazing  round  the  bare  apartment,  with  its  simple  bed,  its 
table,  its  shelves  of  military  boots,  stirrups  and  swords  and 
rifles,  he  saw  on  the  desk  under  the  lamp  a  large  photo- 
graph in  a  frame. 

It  was  the  photograph  of  a  woman  in  Western  costume. 


THE    DAWN  587 

and  he  told  himsolf  in  an  instant  who  the  woman  was — 
she  was   the   daughter  of  the  Geneial  who  was  dead. 

He  remembered  that  he  had  heard  of  her  before  and  that 
he  had  even  spoken  about  her  to  her  father  when  he  came 
to  warn  the  General  that  the  order  he  was  giving  to  Colonel 
Lord  would  lead  to  the  injury  of  England  in  Egypt  and 
the  ruin  of  his  own  happiness.  From  that  day  to  this  he 
had  never  once  thought  of  the  girl,  but  now,  recalling  what 
the  old  Chancellor  had  said  of  her  devotion,  her  fidelity, 
her  loyalty  to  the  man  she  loved,  he  turned  his  eyes  from 
her  picture  lest  the  sight  of  it  should  touch  him  with  ten- 
derness and  make  harder  the  duty  he  had  come  to  do. 

"  No,  I  will  not  look  at  it,"  he  told  himself,  with  the 
simplicity  of  a  sick  child. 

Trying  to  avoid  the  softening  effects  of  the  photograph 
under  the  lamp,  he  saw  another  on  the  table  by  his  side 
and  yet  another  on  the  wall.  They  were  all  pictures  of 
the  same  woman,  and,  hastily  as  he  glanced  at  them,  there 
was  something  in  the  face  of  each  that  kindled  a  light  in 
his  memory.  Was  it  only  a  part  of  his  haunting  torment 
that,  in  spite  of  the  Western  costume  that  obscured  the 
woman  in  the  photographs,  her  brilliant,  beaming  eyes  were 
the  eyes  of  the  Rani? 

A  wave  of  indescribable  tenderness  broke  over  him  for 
a  moment,  an  odor  of  perfume,  an  atmosphere  of  sweetness 
and  delicacy  and  charm,  and  then,  telling  himself  that  all 
this  was  gone  from  him  for  ever  and  that  every  woman's 
face  wo\ild  henceforth  remind  him  of  her  whom  he  had 
lost,  the  hatred  in  his  heart  against  Gordon  gave  him  the 
pain  of  an  open  wound. 

"  O  God,  let  me  forget,  let  me  forget !  "  he  prayed. 

Then  suddenly,  while  he  was  in  the  tempest  of  these 
contrary  emotions,  which  were  whirling  like  hot  sand  in 
a  sandstorm  about  his  brain,  he  heard  a  footstep  on  the 
stairs,  followed  by  a  voice  outside  the  door.  It  was  the 
voice  of  Colonel  Lord's  soldier-servant,  and  he  was  telling 
his  master  who  was  within — an  Arab,  a  Sheikh,  in  white 
robes  and  a  turban. 

"  He's  coming !     He's  here,"  thought  Ishmael. 


588  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

With  chokinj?  throat  and  throbbing  heart  he  rose  to  his 
feet  and  stood  waiting.  At  the  next  moment  the  door  was 
thrown  open  and  the  man  he  had  come  to  meet  was  in  the 
room. 


XVIII 

With  all  his  heart  occupied  by  thoughts  of  his  father, 
Gordon  had  hardly  listened  to  what  Hafiz  had  been  saying 
about  Ishmael,  but  walking  up  the  hill  to  the  Citadel  he 
began  to  think  of  him  and  of  Helena  and  of  the  bond  of 
the  betrothal  which  still  bound  them  together. 

"  Until  that  is  broken  there  can  be  nothing  between  her 
and  me,"  he  told  himself,  and  this  was  the  thought  in  his 
mind  at  the  moment  when  he  reached  his  quarters  and  his 
servant  told  him  who  was  waiting  within. 

"Ishmael  Ameer!  Is  it  you?"  he  cried  as  he  burst 
the  door  open,  and  stepping  eagerly,  cheerfully,  almost  joy- 
fully forward,  he  stretched  out  his  hand. 

But  Ishmael  drew  back,  and  then  Gordon  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  swollen  as  if  by  sleeplessness,  that  his  lips  were 
white,  that  his  cheeks  were  terribly  pale,  and  that  the  ex- 
pression  of  his   face  was   shocking. 

"  Why,  what  is  this  ?     Are  you  ill  ?  "  he  asked. 

'•  Omar  Bcnani,"  said  Ishmael,  "  you  and  I  are  alone, 
and  only  God  is  our  witness.  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you.    Let  us  sit." 

Ho  spoke  in  a  low,  tremulous  tone,  rather  with  his 
breath  than  with  his  voice,  and  Gordon,  after  looking  at 
him  for  an  instant,  and  seeing  the  smouldering  fire  of  mad- 
ness that  was  in  the  man's  face,  threw  off  his  great-coat 
and  sat  down. 

There  was  a  moment  in  which  neither  spoke,  and  then 
Ishmael,  still  speaking  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice,  said: 

"  Omar  Benani,  I  am  a  son  of  the  Beni  Azra.  Honour 
is  our  watchword.  When  a  traveller  in  the  Libyan  Desert, 
tired  and  weary,  seeks  the  tent  of  one  of  my  people,  the 
Master  takes  him  in.     He  makes  him  free  of  all  that  he 


THE    DAWN  589 

possesses.  Sometimes  he  sends  the  stranger  into  the  harem 
itself  that  the  women  may  wash  his  feet.  He  leaves  him 
there  to  rest  and  to  sleep.  He  puts  his  faith,  his  honour, 
the  most  precious  thing  God  has  given  him,  into  his  hands. 
But,"  said  Ishmael,  with  suppressed  fire  flashing  in  his 
eyes,  "  if  the  stranger  should  ever  wrong  that  harem,  if 
he  should  ever  betray  the  trust  reposed  in  him,  no  matter 
who  he  is  or  where  he  flies  to,  the  Master  will  follow  him 
and  kill  him !  " 

Involuntarily,  seeing  the  error  that  Ishmael  had  fallen 
into,  Gordon  rose  to  his  feet,  whereupon  Ishmael,  mistak- 
ing the  gesture,  held  up  his  hand. 

"  Xo,"  he  said,  "  not  that !  I  have  not  come  to  do  that. 
I  put  my  honour  in  your  hands,  Omar  Benani,  I  made  you 
free  of  my  family.  Could  I  have  done  more?  You  were 
my  brother,  yet  you  outraged  the  sacred  rights  of  brother- 
hood. You  tore  open  the  secret  chamber  of  my  heart.  You 
deceived  me  and  robbed  me  and  betrayed  me  and  you  are 
a  traitor.  But  I  am  not  here  to  avenge  myself.  Sit,  sit. 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  come  for." 

Breathless  and  bewildered,  Gordon  sat  again,  and  after 
another  moment  of  silence  Ishmael  said : 

"  Omar  Benani,  there  is  one  who  has  sacrificed  every- 
thing for  you.  She  has  broken  her  vows  for  you,  sinned  for 
you,  suffered  for  you.  That  woman  is  my  wife  and  by  all 
the  rights  of  a  hvisband  I  could  hold  her.  But  her  heart  is 
yours  and  therefore — therefore  /  intend  to  give  her  up." 

Involuntarily  Gordon  rose  to  his  feet  again,  and  again 
Ishmael  held  up  his  hand. 

"  But  if  I  liberate  her,"  he  said,  "  if  I  divorce  her,  you 
must  marry  her.     That  is  what  I  have  come  to  say." 

Utterly  amazed  and  dumfounded,  Gordon  could  not  at 
first  find  words  to  speak,  whereupon  Ishmael,  mistaking  his 
silence,  said: 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  scandal.  My  people  know 
something  about  the  letter  that  was  sent  into  Cairo,  but 
neither  my  people  nor  yours  know  anything  of  the  motives 
that  inspired  it.  Therefore  nobody  except  ourselves  will 
understand  the  reason  for  what  is  done." 


590  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

He  paused  as  if  waiting  for  a  reply,  and  then  said  in  a 
voice  that  quavered  with  emotion: 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  you  hesitate  ?  Do  you  suppose 
I  am  offering  to  you  what  I  do  not  wish  to  keep  for  my- 
self? I  tell  you  that  if  that  poor  girl  could  say  that  her 
feeling  for  me  was  the  same  as  before  you  came  between 
us —  But  no,  that  is  impossible !  God,  who  is  on  high, 
looks  down  on  what  I  am  doing,  and  He  knows  that  it  is 
right." 

Gordon,  still  speechless  with  astonishment,  twisted  about 
to  the  desk,  which  was  behind  him,  and  stretched  out  his 
hand  as  if  with  the  intention  of  taking  up  the  photograph, 
but  at  that  action  Ishmael,  once  more  mistaking  his  mean- 
ing, flashed  out  on  him  in  a  blaze  of  passion. 

"  Don't  tell  me  you  cannot  do  it.  You  must  and  you 
shall!  Xo  matter  what  pledges  you  may  have  made — you 
shall  marry  her.  No  matter  if  she  is  of  another  race  and 
faith — you  shall  marry  her.  She  may  be  an  outcast  now, 
but  you  shall  find  her  and  save  her.  Or  else,"  he  cried,  in 
a  thundering  voice,  rising  to  his  feet  and  lifting  both  arms 
above  Gordon's  head  with  a  terrible  dignity,  "  the  justice 
of  God  shall  overtake  you,  His  hand  shall  smite  you,  his 
wrath   shall  hurl  you  down." 

Seeing  that  all  the  wild  blood  of  the  man's  race  was 
aflame,  Gordon  leaped  up,  and  laying  hold  of  Ishmael's 
upraised  arms  he  brought  them,  by  a  swift  wrench,  down 
to  his  sides. 

The  two  men  were  then  face  to  face,  the  Arab  with  his 
dusky  cheeks  and  flashing  black  eyes,  the  Englishman  with 
his  glittering  gray  eyes  and  lips  set  firm  as  steel.  There 
was  another  moment  of  silence  while  they  stood  together 
so,  and  then  Gordon,  liberating  Ishmael's  arms,  said,  in  a 
commanding  voice : 

"  I  have  listened  to  you.  Now  you  shall  listen  to  me. 
Sit  down." 

More  than  the  strength  of  Gordon's  muscles  the  un- 
blanched  look  in  his  face  compelled  Ishmael  to  obey.  Then 
Gordon  said : 

"  You  believe  you  have  been  deceived  and  wronged,  and 


THE    DAWN  591 

you  have  been  deceived  and  wronged,  but  not  in  the  way 
you  think.  The  time  has  come  for  you  to  learn  the  truth 
— the  whole  truth.  You  shall  learn  it  now.  Look  at  this," 
he  said,  snatching  up  the  photograph  from  the  desk  and 
holding   it  out   to  Ishmael. 

Ishmael  tried   to  push   the  photograph  awaj-. 

"  Look  at   it,   I  say.     Do  you  know  who   that  is  ? " 

At  the  next  moment  Ishmael  was  trembling  in  every 
limb,  and  without  voice,  almost  without  breath,  he  was 
stammering,  as  he  held  the  photograph  in  his  hand : 

"The  Rani?" 

"  Yes,  and  no,"  said  Gordon.  "  That  is  the  daughter 
of  our  late  General." 

It  seemed  to  Ishmael  that  Gordon  had  said  something, 
but  he  tried  in  vain  to  realise  what  it  was. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  stammered,  "  tell  me." 

Then  rapidly  but  forcibly  Gordon  told  him  Helena's 
storj',  beginning  with  the  day  on  which  Ishmael  came  to 
the  Citadel — how  she  had  concluded,  not  without  reason, 
that  he  had  killed  her  father,  he  being  the  last  person  to  be 
seen  with  him  alive,  and  how,  finding  that  the  law  and  the 
government  were  powerless  to  punish  him,  she  had  deter- 
mined to  avenge  her  father's  death  herself. 

Ishmael  listened  with  mouth  open,  fixing  on  Gordon  a 
bewildered  eye. 

"  Was  that  why  she  came  to  Khartoum  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  she  prompted  me  to  come  into  Cairo  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"Why  she  wrote  that  letter?" 

"  Yes." 

Overwhelmed  with  the  terrible  enlightenment,  Ishmael 
fumbled  his  beads  and  muttered,  "  Allah !    Allah !  " 

Then  Gordon  told  his  own  story — how  he,  too,  acting 
under  the  impulse  of  an  awful  error,  had  fled  to  the  Sou- 
dan, leaving  an  evil  name  behind  him  rather  than  kill  his 
dear  ones  by  the  revelation  of  what  he  believed  to  be  the 
truth;  how,  finding  the  pit  that  had  been  dug  for  the  inno- 
cent  man,   he  had   thought   it   his   duty   as  the  guilty   one 


592  THE    WHITE    PEOPHET 

to  step  into  it  himself;  and  how  finally  being  appeased  on 
that  point,  he  had  determined  to  come  into  Cairo  in  Ish- 
mael's  place  in  order  to  save  both  him  from  the  sure  con- 
sequences of  his  determined  fanaticism  and  his  father  from 
the  certain  ruin  that  must  follow  upon  the  work  of  liars 
and  intriguers. 

By  this  time  Ishmael  was  no  longer  pale  but  pallid. 
His  lips  were  trembling,  his  heart  was  beating  audibly. 
Again  without  voice,  almost  without  breath,  he  stam- 
mered : 

"  When  you  offered  to  take  my  place  you  knew  that  the 
Kani — Helena — had  sent  that  letter  ?  " 

Gordon  bowed  without  speaking. 

"  You  knew,  too,  that  you  might  be  coming  to  your 
death?" 

Once  more  Gordon  bowed  his  head. 

"  Coming  to  your  death  that  I — that  I  might  live  ? " 

Gordon  stood  silent  and  motionless. 

"  Allah !  Allah !  "  mumbled  Ishmael,  who  was  now 
scarcely  able  to  hear  or  see. 

Last  of  all  Gordon  returned  to  the  story  of  Helena, 
showing  how  she  had  suffered  for  the  impulse  of  vengeance 
that  had  taken  possession  of  her;  how  she  had  wanted  to 
fly  from  Ishmael's  camp  but  had  remained  there  in  the  hope 
of  helping  to  save  his  people,  and  how  at  length  she  had 
saved  them  by  going  to  the  Consul-General  to  prove  that 
the  pilgrims  were  not  an  armed  force,  and  by  ordering  the 
light  that  had  led  them  into  the  city. 

Ishmael  was  deeply  moved.    With  an  effort  he  said : 

"  Then — then  she  was  yours  from  the  first !  And  while 
I  hated  you  because  I  thought  you  had  come  between  us, 
it  was  really  T— I  who— Allah !  Allah !  " 

Gordon  having  finished,  a  silence  ensued,  and  then  Ish- 
mael, looking  at  the  photograph  which  was  still  in  his 
trembling  hands,  said  in  a  pitiful  voice: 

"  God  sees  all,  and  when  He  tears  the  scales  from  our 
eyes — what  are  we?  The  children  of  one  father  fighting 
in  the  dark  !  " 

Then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  a  broken  man,  and  approaching 


THE   DAWN  593 

Gordon  he  tried  to  kneel  to  him,  but  in  a  moment  Gordon 
had  prevented  him  and  was  holding  out  his  hand. 

Nervously,  timidly,  reluctantly,  he  took  it  and  said,  in 
a  voice  that  had  almost  gone: 

"  God  will  reward  thee  for  this,  my  brother — for  kiss- 
ing the  hand  of  him  who  came  to  smite  thy  face." 

With  that  he  turned  and  staggered  toward  the  door. 
Gordon  opened  it  and  at  the  same  moment  called  to  his 
servant : 

"  Orderly,    show   the    Sheikh   to   the   gate,   please." 

"Yes,  Colonel." 

"  No,  I  beg  of  you,  no,"  said  Ishmael,  and,  while  Gordon 
stood  watching  him,  he  went   heavily   down  the  stairs. 


XIX 

That  night  at  the  house  of  the  Chancellor  of  El  Azhar 
Ishmael  was  missing.  Owing  to  the  state  of  his  health 
the  greatest  anxiety  was  experienced  and  half  the  profes- 
sors and  teachers  of  the  University  were  sent  out  to  search. 
They  scoured  the  city  until  morning  without  finding  the 
slightest  trace  of  him.  Then  the  servant  who  had  at- 
tended upon  him  remembered  that  shortly  before  his  dis- 
appearance he  had  asked  if  the  English  Colonel  who  had 
lately  been  pardoned  by  his  King  still  lived  on  the  Citadel. 

This  led  to  the  discovery  of  his  whereabouts,  and  to 
some  knowledge  of  his  movements.  On  leaving  Gordon's 
quarters  he  had  crossed  the  courtyard  of  the  fortress  to  the 
mosque  of  Mohammed  AH.  It  was  then  dark  and  only  the 
Sheikh  in  charge  had  seen  him  when  after  making  his 
ablutions  he  entered  by  the  holy  door. 

It  was  certain  that  he  had  spent  the  entire  night  in  the 
mosque.  The  muezzin  going  up  to  the  minaret  at  mid- 
night had  seen  a  white  figure  kneeling  before  the  Kibleh. 
Afterward,  when  traditions  began  to  gather  about  Ishmael's 
name,  the  man  declared  that  he  saw  a  celestial  light  de- 
scending upon  the  White  Prophet  as  of  an  angel  hovering 


594  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

over  him.  There  was  a  new  moon  that  night,  and  perhaps 
its  rays  came  down  from  the  little  Avindow  that  looks 
toward  Mecca. 

The  muezzin  also  said  that  at  sunrise  when  he  went  up 
to  the  minaret  again  the  Prophet  was  still  there,  and  that 
an  infinite  radiance  was  then  around  him  as  of  a  multitude 
of  angels  in  red  and  blue  and  gold.  There  are  many  stained 
glass  windows  in  the  mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali  and  per- 
haps the  rising  sun  was  shining  through  them. 

Certainly  Ishmael  was  kneeling  before  the  Kibleh  at 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  people  began  to 
gather  for  prayers.  It  was  Friday  and  the  last  of  the  days 
kept  in  honour  of  the  birthday  of  the  Prophet,  therefore 
there  was  a  great  congregation. 

The  Khedive  was  present.  He  had  come  early,  with 
his  customary  bodyguard,  and  had  taken  his  usual  place 
in  the  front  row  close  under  the  pulpit.  The  carpeted  floor 
of  the  mosque  was  densely  crowded.  Rows  on  rows  of  men 
wearing  tarbooshes  and  turbans  and  sitting  on  their 
haunches  extended  to  the  great  door.  The  gallery  was  full 
of  women,  most  of  them  veiled,  but  some  of  them  with  un- 
covered faces. 

The  sun,  which  was  hot,  shone  through  the  jewelled  win- 
dows and  cast  a  glory  like  that  of  rubies  and  sapphires  on 
the  alabaster  pillars  and  glistening  marble  walls.  Three 
muezzins  chanted  the  call  to  prayers,  two  from  the  min- 
arets facing  toward  the  city,  the  other  from  the  minaret 
overlooking  the  inner  square  of  the  Citadel,  where  a  British 
sentinel  in  khaki  paced  to  and  fro. 

While  the  congregation  assembled,  one  of  the  Readers 
of  the  mosque,  seated  in  a  reading  desk  in  the  middle,  read 
prayers  from  the  Koran  in  a  slow,  sonorous  voice,  and  was 
answered  by  rather  drowsy  cries  of  "  Allah  !  Allah !  "  But 
there  was  a  moment  of  keen  expectancy,  and  the  men  on 
the  floor  rose  to  their  feet,  when  the  voice  of  the  muezzin 
ceased  and  the  Reader  cried : 

"  God  is  Most  Great !  God  is  Most  Great !  There  is  no 
god  but  God.  Mohammed  is  his  Prophet.  Listen  to  the 
preacher." 


THE    DAWN  595 

Then  it  was  seen  that  the  white  figure  that  had  been 
prostrate  before  the  Kibleh  had  risen  and  was  approaching 
the  pulpit.  People  tried  to  kiss  his  hand  as  he  passed,  and 
it  was  noticed  that  the  Khedive  put  his  lips  to  the  fringe 
of  the  Imam's  caftan. 

Taking  the  wooden  sword  from  the  attendant,  Ishmael 
ascended  the  pulpit  steps.  When  he  had  reached  the  top 
of  them  he  was  in  the  full  stream  of  the  sunlight  and  for 
the  first  time  his  face  was  clearly  seen. 

His  cheeks  were  hollow  and  very  pale;  his  lips  were 
bloodless;  his  black  eyes  were  heavy  and  sunken,  and  his 
whole  appearance  was  that  of  a  man  who  had  passed 
through  a  night  of  sleepless  suffering.  Even  at  sight  of 
him  and  before  he  had  spoken  the  congregation  were  deeply 
moved. 

"  Peace  be  upon  you,  oh,  children  of  the  Compassion- 
ate ! "  he  begauj  and  the  people  answered  according  to 
custom : 

"  On  you  be  peace,  oh,  servant  of  Allah !  " 

Then  the  people  sat  and,  sitting  himself,  Ishmael  began 
to  preach. 

It  was  said  afterward  that  he  had  never  before  spoken 
with  so  much  emotion  or  so  deeply  moved  his  hearers;  that 
he  was  like  one  who  was  speaking  out  of  the  night-long 
travail  of  his  soul ;  and  that  his  words,  which  were  often 
tumultuous  and  incoherent,  were  not  like  sentences  spoken 
to  listeners,  but  like  the  secrets  of  a  suffering  heart  utter- 
ing themselves  aloud. 

Beginning  in  a  low,  tired  voice,  that  would  barely  have 
reached  the  limits  of  the  mosque  but  for  the  breathlessness 
of  the  people,  he  said  that  God  had  brought  them  to  a  new 
stage  in  the  progress  of  humanity.  Islam  was  rising  out 
of  the  corruption  of  ages.  Egypt  was  having  a  new  birth 
of  freedom.  God  had  whitened  their  faces  before  the  world 
and  in  His  wisdom  He  had  willed  it  that  the  oldest  of  the 
nations  should  not  perish  from  the  earth. 

"  Ameen !  Ameen !  "  replied  a  hundred  vehement  voices, 
whereupon  Ishmael  rose  from  his  seat  and  raised  his 
arm. 


596  THE    WIDTE    PROPHET 

It  was  an  hour  of  gloiy,  but  let  them  not  be  vainglorious. 
Let  them  not  think  that  with  their  puny  hands  they  had 
won   these  triumphs.     Allah  alone  did  all. 

"  Beware  of  boasting/'  he  cried ;  "  it  is  the  strong  drink 
of  ignorance.  Beware  of  them  that  would  tell  you  that  by 
any  act  of  yours  you  have  humbled  the  pride  or  lowered 
the  strength  of  the  great  nation  under  whose  arm  we  live. 
Only  God  has  changed  its  heart.  He  has  given  it  to  see 
that  the  true  welfare  of  a  people  is  moral,  not  material. 
And  now,  steadily,  calmly,  out  of  the  spirit  that  has  always 
inspired  its  laws,  its  traditions  and  its  faith,  it  shows  us 
mercy  and  justice." 

"  Ameen !  Ameen!"  came  again,  but  less  vehemently 
than  before. 

Then  speaking  of  Gordon  without  naming  him,  Ish- 
mael  reminded  his  people  that  some  of  the  great  nation's 
own  sons  had  helped  them. 

"  One  there  is  who  has  been  our  warmest  friend,"  he 
cried.  "  To  him,  the  pure  of  heart,  the  high  of  soul,  al- 
though he  is  a  soldier  and  a  great  one,  may  Peace  herself 
award  the  crown  of  life !  Christian  he  may  be,  but  may 
God  place  His  benediction  upon  him  to  all  eternity.  May 
the  God  of  the  East  bless  him!  May  the  God  of  the  West 
bless  him !  May  his  name  be  inscribed  with  blessings  from 
the  Koran  on  the  walls  of  every  mosque !  " 

This  reference,  plainly  understood  by  all,  was  received 
with  loud  and  ringing  shouts  of  "Allah!     Allah!" 

Then  Ishmael's  sermon  took  a  new  direction.  For 
thirteen  centuries  the  children  of  men,  forgetting  their 
prophets,  Mohammed  and  Jesus  and  Moses,  had  been  given 
over  to  idolatry.  They  had  worshipped  a  god  of  their  own 
fashioning.  That  god  was  gold.  Its  temples  were  great 
cities  given  up  to  material  pursuits,  and  under  them  were 
the  dead  souls  of  millions  of  human  beings.  Its  altars  were 
vast  armies  which  spilled  the  rivers  of  blood  which  had  to 
be  sacrificed  to  its  lust.  As  men  had  become  rich  they  had 
become  barbarous,  as  nations  had  become  great  they  had  be- 
come pagan.  Islam  and  Christianity  alike  had  had  to  fight 
against  some  of  the  powers  of  darkness  which  called  them- 


THE    DAWN  597 

selves  civilisation  and  progress.  But  a  new  era  had  begun 
and  the  human  heart  was  raising  its  face  to  God. 

"  Once  again  a  voice  has  gone  out  from  Mecca,  from 
Nazareth,  from  Jerusalem,  saying  '  There  is  no  god  but  God.' 
Once  again  a  voice  has  gone  out  from  the  desert,  crying, 
*  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  god  but  Me! '  " 

At  this  the  people  were  carried  out  of  themselves  with 
excitement,  and  loud  shouts  again  rang  through  the  mosque. 

Then  Ishmael  spoke  of  the  future.  The  world  had  been 
in  labour,  in  the  throes  of  a  new  birth,  but  the  end  was  not 
yet.  Had  he  promised  them  that  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
would  come  when  they  entered  Cairo?  Then  let  him  bend 
his  knee  in  humility  and  ask  pardon  of  the  Merciful.  Had 
he  said  the  Redeemer  would  appear?  Let  him  fall  on  his 
face  before  God.     Not  yet!     Not  yet! 

"  But,"  he  cried,  leaning  out  of  the  pulpit,  with  a  look 
of  inspiration  in  his  upraised  eyes,  "  I  see  a  time  coming 
when  the  worship  of  wealth  will  cease;  when  the  govern- 
ments of  the  nations  will  realise  that  man  does  not  live  by 
bread  alone;  when  the  children  of  men  will  see  that  the 
things  of  the  spirit  are  the  only  true  realities,  worth  more 
than  much  gold  and  many  diamonds  and  not  to  be  bartered 
away  for  the  shows  of  life;  when  the  scourge  of  war  will 
pass  away;  Avhen  divisions  of  faith  will  be  no  more  known; 
when  all  men,  whether  black  or  white,  will  be  brothers ;  and 
in  the  larger  destiny  of  the  human  race  the  world  will  be 
One." 

"  That  time  is  near,  oh,  brothers,"  cried  Ishmael,  "  and 
many  who  are  with  us  to-day  will  live  to  witness  it." 

"  You,  Master,  you !  "  cried  a  voice  from  below,  where- 
upon Ishmael  paused  for  a  perceptible  moment,  and  then 
said  in  a  sadder  voice : 

"  No,  with  the  eyes  of  the  body  I  shall  not  see  that 
time." 

Loud  shouts  of  affectionate  protest  came  from  the  people. 

"  God  forbid  it !  "  they  cried. 

"  God  has  forbidden  it,"  said  Ishmael.     "  I  pass  out  of 

your  lives  from  this  day  forward.     Our  paths  part.     You 

will  see  me  no  more." 
39 


598  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Again  came  loud  shouts  of  protest — not  unusual  in  a 
mosque — with  voices  calling  on  Ishmael  to  remain  and  lead 
the  people. 

"  My  work  here  is  done,"  he  answered.  "  The  little  that 
God  gave  me  to  do  is  finished.    And  now  he  calls  me  away." 

"  Xo,  no,"  cried  the  people. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Ishmael,  and  then  in  simple,  touching 
words  he  told  them  the  story  of  the  Prophet  Moses — how 
by  reason  of  his  sin  he  was  forbidden  to  enter  the  Promised 
Land. 

"  Many  of  us  have  our  promised  land  which  we  may 
never  enter,"  he  said.  "  This  is  mine,  and  here  I  may  not 
stay." 

The  protests  of  the  people  ceased;  they  listened  with- 
out breathing. 

"  Yet  Moses  was  taken  up  into  a  high  mountain  and 
from  there  he  saw  what  lay  before  his  people,  and  from  a 
high  mountain  of  my  soul  I  see  the  Promised  Land  which 
lies  before  you.  But  to  me  a  voice  has  come  which  says, 
'  Enter  thou  not ! '  " 

The  people  were  now  deeply  moved. 

"  We  are  all  sinners,"  Ishmael  continued. 

"  Not  thou,  O  Master !  "  cried  several  voices  at  once. 

"  Yes,  I  more  than  any  other,  for  I  have  sinned  against 
you  and  against  the  Merciful." 

Then  raising  his  arms  as  if  in  blessing  he  cried: 

"  Oh,  slaves  of  God,  be  brothers  one  to  another !  If  you 
think  of  me  when  I  am  gone,  think  of  me  as  of  one  who 
saw  the  coming  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  on  earth  as 
Ijlainly  as  his  eyes  behold  you  now.  If  I  leave  you  I  leave 
this  hope,  this  comforter,  behind  me.  Think  that  Azrael, 
the  angel  of  death,  has  spread  his  wings  over  the  desert 
track  that  hides  me  from  your  eyes.  But  pray  for  me — pray 
for  me  with  the  sinner's  prayer,  the  sinner's  cry." 

Then  in  deep,  tremulous  tones  which  seemed  to  be  the 
inner  voice  of  the  whole  of  his  being,  he  cried: 

"  Oh,  thou  who  knowcst  every  heart  and  hearest  every 
cry,  look  down  and  hearken  to  me  now!  One  sole  plea  I 
make — my  need  of  Thee!     One  only  hope  I  have — to  stand 


THE    DAWN  599 

at  Thy  mercy-gate  and  knock!  Penitent,  I  kneel  at  Thy 
feet!  Suppliant,  I  stretch  forth  my  hands!  Save  me,  O 
God,  from  every  ill !  " 

The  words  of  the  prayer  were  familiar  to  everybody  in 
the  mosque,  but  so  deep  was  their  effect  as  Ishmael  repeated 
them,  in  his  trembling,  throbbing  voice,  that  it  seemed  as 
if  nobody  present  had  ever  heard  them  before. 

The  emotion  of  the  people  was  now  very  great.  "  Allah !  '^ 
"  Allah !  "  "  Allah !  "  they  cried  and  they  prostrated  them- 
selves with  their  faces  to  thie  floor. 

When  the  cold,  slow,  sonorous  voice  of  the  Header  began 
again,  and  the  vast  congregation  raised  their  heads,  the  pul- 
pit was  empty  and  Ishmael  was  gone. 


XX 

Meantime  the  General's  house  on  the  edge  of  the  ram- 
parts was  being  made  ready  for  its  new  tenant.  Fatiraah, 
Ibrahim  and  Mosie,  with  a  small  array  of  Arab  servants,  had 
been  there  since  early  morning,  washing,  dusting,  and  alter- 
ing the  position  of  furniture. 

Toward  noon  the  Princess  had  arrived  in  her  carriage, 
which,  with  her  customary  retinue  of  gorgeously  appareled 
black  attendants,  was  now  standing  by  the  garden  gate. 
Helena  had  come  with  her,  but  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  was  utterly  weak  and  helpless.  Just  as  a  nervous 
collapse  may  follow  upon  a  nervous  strain,  so  a  collapse  of 
character  may  come  after  prolonged  exercise  of  will.  Some- 
thing of  this  kind  was  happening  to  Helena,  who  stood  by 
the  window  in  the  General's  office,  looking  down  at  the  city 
and  running  her  fingers  along  the  hem  of  her  handkerchief, 
while  the  Princess,  bustling  about,  laughed  at  her  and  ral- 
lied her. 

"  Goodness  me,  girl,  you  used  to  have  some  blood  in 
your  veins,  but  now — il/on  Dieu!  To  think  of  you  who 
went  down  there  and  did  that,  and  used  to  drive  a  motor- 
car through  the  traffic  as  calmly  as  if  it  had  been  a  go-cart, 
trembling  and  jerking  as  if  you  had  got  the  jumps!  " 


600  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Meantime,  the  Princess  herself,  full  of  energy,  was  or- 
dering the  servants  about,  and  by  a  hundred  little  changes 
was  giving  to  the  General's  office  a  look  that  almost  oblit- 
erated its  former  appearance. 

"  We'll  have  the  desk  here  and  the  sofa  there — what 
do  you  say  to  the  sofa  there,  my  sweet  ?  " 

"  Hadn't  you  better  ask  Gordon  himself.  Princess  ? " 
asked  Helena. 

"  But  the  man  isn't  here,  and  how  can  I — never  mind, 
leave  them  where  they  are,  Ibrahim.  And  now  for  the 
pictures — nothing  makes  a  room  look  so  fresh  as  a  lot  of 
pictures." 

Ibrahim  had  brought  up  from  the  Agency  a  number 
of  pictures  which  had  belonged  to  Gordon's  mother,  and 
the  Princess,  using  her  lorgnette,  proceeded  to  examine 
them. 

"What's  this?  '  Charles  George  Gordon.'  I  know!  The 
White  Pasha.  Put  him  over  the  General's  desk.  '  Ecce 
Homo.'  Humph !  A  man  couldn't  wish  to  have  a  thing  like 
this  in  his  office,  and  a  natural  woman  can't  want  it  over  her 
bed.  Mosie !  Take  'Ecce  Homo '  to  a  nice  dark  corner  of 
the  servant's  hall." 

At  that  moment  Fatimah  came  from  the  kitchen,  which 
had  been  shut  up  since  the  day  after  Helena's  departure  for 
the  Soudan,  to  say  that  half  the  cooking  tins  had  disap- 
peared. 

"  Just  what  I  expected !  Stolen  by  those  rascally  Egyp- 
tian cooks,  no  doubt.  Rascally  Egyptians!  That's  what  I 
call  them.  Excuse  the  word,  my  dear.  I  speak  my  mind. 
They'd  steal  the  kohl  from  your  eyes — if  you  had  any.  And 
these  are  the  people  who  are  to  govern  the  country!  But 
I  say  nothing — not  I  indeed !  The  virtue  of  a  woman  is  in 
holding  her  tongue —  Fatimah,  now  that  you  are  here,  you 
might  make  yourself  iiseful.  Dust  that  big  picture  of  the 
naked  babies.  What's  it  called?  'Suffer  Little  Children.' 
Goodness!  He  looks  as  if  he  were  giving  away  clothes. 
Helena,  my  moon,  my  beauty,  you  really  must  tell  me 
where  to  put  this  one." 

"  But  hadn't  you  better  ask  Gordon  himself.  Princess  ? 


THE    DAWN  601 

It's  to  be  his  house,  you  know,"  repeated  Helena,  whereupon 
the  Princess,  wheeling  round  on  her,  said : 

"  Gracious  me,  what's  come  over  you,  girl  ?  Here  you 
are  to  be  mistress  of  the  whole  place  within  a  month,  I  sup- 
pose, and  yet " 

"  Hush,  Princess." 

There  were  footsteps  in  the  hall,  and  at  the  next  mo- 
ment, Gordon,  in  his  frock-coat  uniform,  looking  flushed 
and  excited,  and  accompanied  by  Hafiz,  whose  chubby  face 
was  wreathed  in  smiles,  had  entered  the  room. 

After  he  had  shaken  hands  with  the  Princess,  the  serv- 
ants rushed  upon  him,  Mosie,  who  had  come  behind,  kissing 
his  sword,  Ibrahim  his  hand,  and  Fatimah  struggling  with 
an  impulse  to  throw  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  So  you've  come  at  last,  have  you  ?  "  said  the  Princess. 
"  Time  enough,  too,  for  here's  Helena  of  no  use  to  anybody. 
Your  father  has  gone  back  to  England,  hasn't  he?  He  might 
have  come  up  to  see  me,  I  think.  He  wrote  a  little  letter  to 
say  good-bye,  though.  It  was  just  like  him.  I  could  hear 
him  speaking.  ^  My  goodness,'  I  said,  '  that's  Nuncham ! ' 
Well,  we  shall  never  see  his  equal.  No,  never !  He  might  have 
left  Egypt  with  twenty  millions  in  his  pocket  and  he  has  gone 
with  nothing  but  his  v/ages.  I  suppose  they're  slandering  him 
all  the  same.  Ingrates!  But  no  matter!  The  dogs  bark, 
but  the  camel  goes  along.  And  now  that  I've  time,  let  me 
take  a  look  at  you.  What  a  colour !  But  what  are  you  trem- 
bling about?     Goodness  me,  has  everybody  got  the  jumps?" 

Helena  was  the  only  one  in  the  room  who  had  not  come 
forward  to  greet  Gordon,  and  seeing  his  sidelong  look  in 
her  direction,  the  Princess  began  to  lay  plans  for  leaving 
them  together. 

"  Ibrahim,"  she  cried,  "  hang  up  these  naked  babies  in 
the  bath-room — the  only  place  for  them,  it  seems  to  me. 
Fatimah,  go  back  and  look  if  the  cooking  tins  are  not  in 
the  kitchen  cupboard." 

"  They're  not — I've  looked  already,"  said  Fatimah. 

"  Then  go  and  look  again.  Mosie,  you  want  to  inspect 
my  horses — I  can  see  you  do." 

"No,  lady  I  have  i'spected  them." 


602  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

''  Then  i'spcct  them  a  second  time.  Off  you  go ! — where's 
my  lorgnette  i'  Oh,  dear  me.  I  fancy  I  must  have  left  it 
in  the  boudoir." 

"  Let  me  go  for  it,  Princess,"  said  Helena. 

"  Certainly  not!  Why  should  you?  Do  you  think  I'm  a 
cripple  that  I  can't  go  myself?  Hafiz  Eifendi,  where  are 
your  manners  that  you  don't  open  this  door  for  me?  That's 
better.    Now  the  inner  one." 

At  the  next  moment  Gordon  and  Helena  were  left  to- 
gether. Helena  was  still  standing  by  the  window  looking 
down  at  the  city  which  seemed  to  lie  dazed  under  the  mid- 
day sun.  Gordon  stepped  up  and  stood  by  her  side.  It  was 
hard  to  realise  that  they  were  there  again.  But  in  spite  of 
their  happiness  there  was  a  little  cloud  over  both.  They 
knew  what  caused  it. 

While  they  stood  together  in  silence  they  could  hear  the 
low  reverberation  of  the  voices  of  the  people  who  were  pray- 
ing within  the  mosque. 

"  They  are  chanting  the  first  Surah,"  said  Gordon. 

"  Yes,  the  first  Surah,"  said  Helena. 

Their  hands  found  each  other  as  they  stood  side  by  side. 

"  I  saw  Ishmael  last  night.  He  came  to  my  quarters," 
said  Gordon  in  a  low  tone. 

"Well?"  asked  Helena,  faintly. 

"  It  was  most  extraordinary.  He  came  to  tell  me  that 
— to  compel  me  to " 

"  Hush !  " 

There  was  a  soft  footstep  behind  them.  It  was  the  step 
of  some  one  walking  in  Oriental  slippers.  Withovit  turning 
round  they  know  who  it  was. 

It  was  Ishmael.  Notwithstanding  his  dusky  complexion, 
his  face  was  very  pale — almost  as  white  as  his  turban.  His 
eyes  looked  weary,  their  light  was  almost  extinct.  Perhaps 
lais  sermon  had  exhausted  him.  It  was  almost  as  if  there 
vras  no  life  left  in  him  except  the  life  of  the  soul.  But  he 
smiled — it  was  the  smile  of  a  spectre — as  he  stepped  forward 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

Gordon's  heart  shuddered  for  pity.  "Are  you  well?" 
he  asked. 


THE    DAWN  603 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  But  you  look  tired." 

"  It's  nothing,"  Ishmael  said,  and  then,  with  a  touching 
simplicity,  he  added,  "  I  have  been  troubled  in  my  heart,  but 
now  I  am  at  peace  and  all  is  well." 

They  sat,  Ishmael  on  the  sofa,  Helena  on  a  chair  at  his 
right,  Gordon  on  a  chair  at  his  left,  the  window  open  be- 
fore them,  the  city  slumbering  below. 

Ishmael's  face,  though  full  of  lines  of  pain,  continued  to 
smile,  and  his  voice,  though  hoarse  and  faint,  was  cheerful. 
He  had  come  to  tell  them  that  he  was  going  away. 

"Going  away?"  said  Gordon. 

"  Yes,  my  work  here  is  done,  and  when  a  man's  work  is 
done  he  stands  outside  of  life.     So  I  am  going  back." 

"  Back  ?  You  mean  back  to  Khartoum  ?  "  asked  Helena 
timidly. 

"  Perhaps  there,  too.  But  back  to  the  desert.  I  am  a 
son  of  the  desert.  Therefore,  what  other  place  can  be  so 
good  for  me  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  or  rather  no !  When  a  man  has  lived,  has  la- 
boured, he  has  always  one  thing — ^memory.  And  he  who 
has  memory  can  never  be  quite  alone." 

"  Still  you  will  be  very " 

Ishmael  turned  to  her  with  an  almost  imperceptible 
smile. 

"  Perhaps,  yes,  at  first,  a  little  lonely,  and  all  the  more 
so  for  the  sweet  glimpse  I  have  had  of  human  company." 

"  But  this  is  not  what  you  intended  to — what  you  hoped 
to " 

"  No !  It's  true  I  nourished  other  dreams  for  a  while — 
dreams  of  living  a  human  life  after  my  work  was  done.  It 
would  have  been  very  sweet,  very  beautiful.  And  now  to 
go  away,  to  give  it  up,  never  more  to  have  part  and  lot  in — 
never  again  to  see  those  who —  Yes,  it's  hard,  a  little 
hard." 

Helena  turned  her  head  aside  and  looked  out  at  the  win- 
dow. 

"  But   that   is   all   over  now,"   said   Ishmael.     "  Love   is 


604  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

the  crown  of  life,  but  it  is  not  for  all  of  us.  Your  great 
Master  knew  that  as  he  knew  everything.  Some  men  have 
to  be  eunuchs  for  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven's  sake.  How 
true !    How  right !  " 

His  pallid  face  struggled  to  smile  as  he  said  this. 

"  And  then,  what  does  our  Prophet  say  ? — on  him  be 
prayer  and  peace !  '  The  man  who  loves  and  never  attains  to 
the  joy  of  his  love,  but  renounces  it  for  another  who  has 
more  right  to  it,  is  as  one  who  dies  a  martyr.' " 

Still  looking  out  at  the  window,  Helena  tried  to  say  she 
would  always  remember  him,  and  hoped  he  would  be  very 
happy. 

"  Thank  you !  That  also  will  be  a  sweet  memory,"  he 
said.  "  But  happy  moments  are  rare  in  the  lives  of  those 
who  are  called  to  a  work  for  humanity." 

Then,  coming  gently  to  closer  quarters,  he  told  them  he 
was  there  to  say  good-bye  to  them.  "  I  had  intended  to 
write  to  you,"  he  said,  turning  again  to  Helena,  "  but  it  is 
better  so." 

Then,  facing  toward  Gordon,  he  said: 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  have  not  always  loved  you.  But 
I  have  been  in  the  wrong  and  I  ask  your  pardon.  It  is  God 
who  governs  the  heart.  And  what  does  your  divine  Mas- 
ter say  about  that,  too?  'Whom  God  hath  joined  together 
let  no  man  put  asunder.'  That  is  the  true  word  about  love 
and  marriage — the  first,  and  the  last,  and  the  only  one." 

Then  he  rose  and  both  Helena  and  Gordon  rose  with 
him.  One  moment  ho  stood  between  them  without  speak- 
ing, and  then,  stooping  over  Helena's  hand  and  kissing  it, 
he  said,  in  a  scarcely  audible  whisper: 

"  I  divorce  thee !    I  divorce  thee !    I  divorce  thee !  " 

It  was  the  Mohammedan  form  of  divorce  and  all  that 
was  necessary  to  set  Helena  free.  When  he  raised  his  head 
his  face  was  still  smiling — a  pitiful,  heart-breaking  smile. 

Then,  still  holding  Helena's  hand,  he  reached  out  for 
Gordon's  also,  and  said : 

"  I  give  her  back  to  thee,  my  brother.  And  do  not  think 
I  give  what  I  would  not  keep.  Perhaps — who  knows  ? — per- 
haps I  loved  her,  too." 


THE    DA\VN      ^  605 

Helena  was  deeply  affected.  Gordon  found  it  impossible 
to  look  into  Ishmael's  face.  They  felt  his  wearied  eyes 
resting  upon  them;  they  felt  their  hands  being  brought  to- 
gether; they  felt  Ishmael's  hand  resting  for  a  moment  on 
their  hands;  and  then  they  heard  him  say: 

"  Maa-es-salamah !  Be  happy!  Keep  together  as  long 
as  you  can.  And  never  forget  we  shall  meet  again  some 
day." 

Then  in  a  voice  so  low  that  they  could  scarcely  hear  it, 
he  said: 

"  Peace  be  with  you  both!  Peace!  "  and  passed  out  of  the 
room. 

They  stood  where  he  had  left  them  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  with  faces  to  the  ground  and  their  hands  quivering 
in  each  other's  clasp,  until  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had 
died  away.     Then  Gordon  said: 

"  Shall  we  go  into  the  garden,  Helena  ? " 

"Yes,"  she  replied  in  a  whisper. 

They  went  out  hand  in  hand  and  walked  to  the  arbour 
on  the  edge  of  the  ramparts.  There,  on  that  loved  spot,  the 
past  rolled  back  on  them  like  billows  of  the  soul.  The 
bushes  seemed  to  have  grown,  the  bougainvillaea  was  more 
purple  than  before,  the  air  was  full  of  the  scent  of  blossom, 
and  everything  was  turning  to  love  and  to  song. 

They  did  not  speak,  but  they  put  their  arms  about  each 
other,  and  looked  down  on  the  wide  panorama  below — the 
city,  the  Nile,  the  desert,  the  pyramids,  and  that  old,  old 
Sphinx  whose  scarred  face  had  witnessed  so  many  incidents 
in  the  story  of  humanity,  and  was  now  witnessing  the  last 
incident  of  one  story  more. 

How  long  they  stood  there  in  their  great  happiness 
they  never  knew,  but  they  were  called  back  to  themselves 
by  a  shrill,  clear  voice  that  came  from  a  minaret  behind 
them: 

"God  is  Most  Great!     God  is  Most  Great!" 

Then,  turning  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  they  saw  a 
white  figure  on  a  white  camel  ascending  the  yellow  road  that 
leads  up  to  the  fort  on  the  top  of  the  Mokattam  hills  and 
onward  to  the  desert. 


606 


THE    WHITE    PROrHET 


'•'Look,"  said  Gordon.     "Is  it ?" 

Without  speaking,  Helena  bent  her  head  in  assent. 

With  hands  still  clasped  and  quivering,  they  watched  the 
white  figure  as  it  passed  away.  It  stopped  at  the  crest  of 
the  hill,  and  looked  back  for  a  moment;  then  turned  again 
and  went  on.    At  the  next  moment  it  was  gone. 

And  then  once  more  came  the  voice  from  the  minaret, 
like  the  voice  of  an  angel  winging  its  way  through  the  air: 


^ 


#-H^ 


-^zi: 


:«5~»" 


^2^- 


tt±=U: 


AL-LA-UUAK-BAR. 
God  is  Most  Great! 


AL-LA    -     -     EUAK-BAR. 
God  is  Most  Great! 


EPILOGUE 

Lord  Nuneham  lived  ten  years  longer,  but  never,  after 
the  first  profound  sensation  caused  by  his  retirement,  was 
he  heard  of  again.  The  House  of  Lords  did  not  sec  him, 
he  was  never  found  on  any  public  platform,  and  no  pub- 
lisher could  prevail  upon  him  to  write  the  story  of  his  life. 

He  bought  a  majestic  but  rather  melancholy  place  in 
Berkshire,  one  of  the  great  historic  seats  of  an  extinguished 
noble  family,  and  there,  under  the  high  elms  and  amid  the 
green  and  cloudy  landscape  of  his  own  country,  he  lived  out 
his  last  years  in  unbroken  obscurity. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  deep  tragedy  is  the  school  of 
great  men,  but  there  was  one  ray  of  sunshine  to  brighten 
Lord  Nuneham's  solitude.  On  a  table,  by  his  bedside,  in  a 
room  darkened  by  nastling  leaves,  stood  two  photographs  in 
silver  frames.  They  were  of  two  boys,  one  dark  like  his 
mother,  the  other  fair  like  his  father,  both  bright  and  strong 
and  clear-eyed.  Down  to  the  end  the  old  man  never  went  to 
bed  without  taking  up  these  pictures  and  looking  at  them, 
and  as  often  as  he  did  so  a  faint  smile  would  pass  over  his 
seamed  and  weary  face. 

After  a  while  the  world  forgot  that  he  was  alive,  and 
when  he  died  the  public  seemed  to  be  taken  by  surprise.  "  I 
thought  he  died  ten  years  ago,"  said  somebody. 

Gordon  held  his  post  as  General  in  command  of  the 
British  Army  in  Egypt  for  four  successive  terms,  his  ap- 
pointment being  renewed  first  by  the  wish  of  the  War  Office 
and  afterward  at  the  request  of  the  Egyptian  Government. 
The  civil  occupation  having  become  less  active  since  his 
father's  time  (the  new  Consul-General  being  a  pale  shadow 
of  his  predecessor),  the  military  occupation  became  more 
important,  and  except  for  his  subjection  to  headquarters, 

607 


608  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

Gordon  appeared  to  stand  in  the  position  of  a  military  auto- 
crat. But  in  the  difficult  and  delicate  task  of  maintaining 
order  iu  a  foreign  country  without  exasperating  the  feelings 
of  the  native  people,  he  showed  great  tact  and  sym- 
pathy. While  allowing  the  utmost  liberty  to  thought, 
Avhethcr  political  or  religious,  he  never  for  a  moment  per- 
mitted it  to  be  believed  that  the  Government  could  be  de- 
fied with  impunity  in  matters  affecting  peace,  order,  life,  and 
property. 

For  this  the  best  elements  honoured  him,  and  when  the 
poor  and  illiterate,  who  were  sometimes  the  victims  of  Ex- 
tremists, whose  only  aim  was  to  throw  flaming  torches  into 
pits  of  inflammable  gas,  saw  that  he  was  just  as  ready  to 
put  down  lawlessness  among  Europeans  as  among  Egyp- 
tians, they  loved  as  well  as  trusted  him.  His  life  in  Egypt 
lessened  the  gulf  which  Easterners  always  find  between 
Christians  and  Christianity,  and  whenever  he  had  to  re- 
turn to  England,  the  streets  of  Cairo  would  be  red  with  the 
tarbooshes  of  the  people  who  ran  to  the  railway-station  to 
see  him  off.  "  Maa-es-salamah,  brother !  "  they  would  say, 
with  the  simplicity  of  children,  and  then,  "  Don't  forget  we 
will  be  waiting  for  you  to  come  back." 

Gordon's  love  for  the  Egyptians  never  failed  him,  and 
he  was  entirely  happy  in  his  home,  where  Helena  developed 
the  summer  bloom  of  beautiful  womanhood,  where  the  light, 
merry  sound  of  the  voices  of  her  two  young  boys  was  al- 
ways ringing  like  music  through  the  house. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  for  a  while  Egypt  had  a  hard 
and  almost  tragic  time.  After  the  Consul-General's  depart- 
ure she  went  through  a  period  of  storm  and  stress.  There 
were  both  errors  and  crimes.  These  were  the  inevitable  re- 
sults of  progressive  stages  of  self-rule;  and  even  anarchy, 
the  travail  of  a  nation's  birth,  was  not  altogether  unknown. 
During  the  earlier  years  there  were  some  to  regret  the  ab- 
sence of  the  mailed  fist  of  Lord  Nuneham  and  to  question 
the  benefit  of  quasi-Western  institutions  in  an  Eastern 
country.  But  the  atmosphere  cleared  at  last,  the  sinister 
anticipations  were  falsified,  a  bold  and  magnanimous  policy 
brought  peace,  and  the  destinies  of  Egypt  were  firmly  united 


EPILOGUE  609 

to  those  of  the  country  that  had  yiven  her  a  new  lease  of 
life  and  liberty. 

England  never  regretted  what  she  had  done  on  that 
day  when,  true  to  her  high  traditions,  she  decided  that  a 
great  nation  had  no  longer  any  right  to  govern  with  abso- 
lute and  undivided  authority,  another  race  living  under  an- 
other sky.  And  her  reward  seems  likely  to  come  in  a  way 
that  might  have  been  least  expected.  As  "  God  chooseth 
His  fleshly  instruments  and  with  imperfect  hearts  doeth 
His  perfect  work,"  He  seems  to  have  put  it  into  the  hearts 
of  the  Arab  people  to  sink  their  tribal  differences  and  to 
act  on  the  prompting  of  the  gigantic  myth  with  which  the 
Grand  Cadi  deceived  the  Consul-General. 

Indeed,  those  who  gaze  into  the  future  as  into  a  crystal 
say  that  the  time  is  near  when  the  long  drama  of  dissension 
that  has  been  played  between  Arabs  and  Turks  will  end  in 
the  establishment  of  a  vast  Arabic  Empire,  extending  from 
the  Tigris  and  the  Euphrates  Valley  to  the  Mediterranean, 
and  from  the  Indian  Ocean  to  Jerusalem,  with  Cairo  as  its 
Capital,  the  Khedive  as  its  Caliph,  and  England  as  its  lord 
and  protector.  Xo  one  can  foreshadow  the  future,  but  this 
was  Napoleon's  greatest  dream,  and  the  nation  that  can 
realise  it  will  hold  the  peace  of  the  world  in  the  palm  of  its 
almighty  hand. 

And  Ishmael? 

After  he  left  Cairo  he  was  never  seen  again  by  anyone 
who  could  positively  identify  him.  Some  say  he  returned 
to  the  home  of  his  childhood  on  the  Libyan  Desert  and 
that  he  died  there;  others  that  he  went  back  to  Khartoum 
and  thence  to  the  heart  of  the  Sahara,  and  that  he  is  still 
alive.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  his  disap- 
pearance has  had  the  effect  of  death,  that  it  has  deepened 
the  impression  of  his  life,  and  that  a  huge  shadow  of  him 
remains  on  those  among  whom  he  lived  and  laboured. 

It  was  said  on  the  day  of  his  departure  that  Black  Zogal, 
who  followed  him  to  the  last  with  the  fidelity  of  a  human 
dog,  kept  close  at  his  heels  until  he  came  to  the  top  of  the 
Mokattam  hills,  where  the  Master  sent  him  back  after 
strictly    charging   him   to   tell   no    one    which   way   he   was 


610  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

going.  Since  then,  however,  Zogal  has  given  it  out  ("with 
eveiy  appearance  of  believing  his  own  story)  that  he  saw 
Ishmael  ascend  to  heaven  from  the  Gebel  Mokattam  in  a 
blinding  whirlwind  of  celestial  light,  a  flight  of  angels  car- 
rying him  away. 

A  Saint's  House  has  been  built  for  Black  Zogal  on  the 
spot  on  which  he  says  he  saw  the  ascent;  the  half-crazy 
Soudanese  inhabits  it,  and  its  outer  walls  are  almost  cov- 
ered with  the  small  flags  which  devotees  have  brought  and 
fixed  to  them  in  their  childlike  effort  to  show  reverence. 

Xothing  could  exceed  the  boundless  affection  which  is 
still  felt  for  Ishmael  by  those  who  came  into  immediate  con- 
tact with  him.  He  seems  to  have  inspired  them  with  a  love 
which  survives  absence  and  could  even  conquer  death. 
Everybody  who  ever  spoke  to  him  has  a  story  to  tell  of  his 
wisdom,  his  power,  and  his  tenderness.  The  number  of 
his  "  miracles "  has  increased  tenfold,  and  though  not 
described  as  sinless,  he  is  always  talked  of  as  if  he  were 
divine. 

His  Mouled  (his  birthday,  a  conjectural  date)  is  cele- 
brated by  ceremonies  which  almost  outrival  the  "  Nights  of 
the  Prophet."  About  the  Saint's  House  on  the  Mokattam 
hills  a  huge  encampment  of  tents  is  made,  and  there,  under 
the  blaze  of  thousands  of  dazzling  lights,  the  dervishes  hold 
their  Zikrs  amid  scenes  of  frantic  excitement  due  to  exhi- 
bitions of  hypnotic  suggestion  which  ever  include  "  the 
effect  of  tongues,"  while  more  serious-minded  Sheikhs  re- 
peat a  long  record  of  Ishmael's  genealogy.  This  is  a  very 
circumstantial  story  with  a  vague  resemblance  to  something 
w^hich  Christians  speak  of  with  bated  breath — how,  when  his 
mother,  who  was  a  virgin,  was  bearing  him,  an  angel  ap- 
peared to  her  in  a  dream  and  said,  "  You  carry  the  Lord  of 
Man,"  and  how,  when  the  child  was  delivered,  three  great 
Sheikhs  came  from  Mecca  to  pay  reverence  to  him,  having 
seen  a  star  in  the  sky  which  told  them  where  he  was  to  be 
born. 

In  the  course  of  years  a  great  body  of  Ishmael's  "  Say- 
ings "  have  been  gathered  up.  Some  of  them  are  authentic, 
but  most  of  them  are  out  of  the  wisdom  of  the  ages,  and 


EPILOGUE  611 

not  a  few  are  directly  borrowed  from  the  Christian  gospels, 
which  the  Moslems,  as  a  whole,  do  not  know.  Whatever 
their  sources,  they  are  deeply  treasured.  Women  chant 
them  to  the  children  at  their  knees,  and  men  lisp  them  with 
their  last  breath  and  then  die  with  brave  faces. 

Besides  the  impression  he  has  produced  upon  the  people, 
which  is  strong  and  likely  to  be  enduring,  Ishmael  seems  to 
have  an  almost  unaccountable  fascination  for  Arabic  schol- 
ars and  theologians.  A  number  of  the  professors  at  El 
Azhar  are  already  deep  in  metaphysical  disputations  about 
the  inner  significance  of  the  words  attributed  to  him,  and 
it  is  whispered  that  the  venerable  Chancellor  (now  nearly 
a  hundred  years  of  age)  is  compiling  a  book,  half  biography 
and  half  commentary,  that  is  full  of  mystical  meanings. 

More  extraordinary  still,  it  seems  probable  that  a  large 
and  gorgeous  mosque  will  be  built  in  Ishmael's  honour,  and 
that  he  who  loved  best  to  worship  in  that  temple  of  the 
open  desert  whereof  the  dome  is  the  sky,  he  who  cared  so 
little  about  dogmatic  theology  that  he  never  even  wrote  a 
line,  may,  by  the  wild  irony  of  fate,  become  the  founder  of 
a  sect  in  Islam  which  will  teach  everything  he  fought 
against  and  practise  everything  he  condemned. 

Chief  among  the  subjects  of  disputation  is  Ishmael's  ex- 
pectation of  a  Kingdom  of  Heaven  upon  earth,  though  the 
IJlema,  less  concerned  with  the  spirit  than  with  the  letter 
of  the  Prophet's  hope,  are  divided  as  to  the  source  of  it. 
Some  say  it  is  plainly  indicated  in  the  Koran  and  the  tra- 
ditions; others,  more  widely  read,  say  it  is  borrowed  from 
the  Hebrew  Bible,  while  a  few  refer  it  to  a  vague  and  misty 
antiquity. 

Hardly  less  interesting  to  the  theologians  is  the  ques- 
tion of  Ishmael's  identity.  !N"early  all  agree  that  there  was 
an  element  of  the  supernatural  about  him,  so  hard  is  it  to 
attribute  to  men  of  ordinary  human  passions  the  great 
movements  that  affect  the  world.  But  while  there  are  those 
who  believe  him  to  have  been  the  Mahdi,  sent  expressly  to 
earth  to  destroy  Anti-Christ,  that  is  to  say,  the  Consul-Gen- 
eral,  an  influential  group  hold  to  the  opinion  that  he  was, 
and  is,  Seyidna  Isa — Our  Lord  Jesus. 


612  THE    WHITE    PROPHET 

About  this  latter  view  there  gathers  a  strange  and  not 
unimpressive  theory — that  Jesus  (who,  according  to  the  Is- 
lamic faith,  did  not  die  on  the  cross)  reappears  at  intervals 
among  different  races — now  among  the  Jews,  now  among 
the  Indians,  now  among  the  Arabs — and  that  he  will  con- 
tinue to  make  these  manifestations  until  the  world  is  ready 
for  the  greatest  happiness  obtainable  by  man — the  estab- 
lishment of  the  Kingdom  of  God. 

But  not  all  the  disputations  of  the  wise  heads  of  El  Az- 
har  can  rob  the  humble  of  the  object  of  their  veneration. 
Ishmael  came  from  the  people,  and  with  the  people  he  will 
always  remain.  His  blameless  life,  his  touching  history, 
his  deep  humanity,  his  simple  teaching  and,  above  all,  his 
lofty  hopes  have  made  him  Sultan  of  a  vast  empire  of  souls 
— the  empire  of  the  poor,  the  oppressed,  the  downtrodden, 
and  the  broken-hearted.  From  the  central  heart  of  the  East 
his  spirit  came  as  a  ray  of  sunlight,  inspiring  men  in  the 
dark  places  to  live  nobly,  to  die  bravely,  and  to  keep  up 
their  courage  to  the  last. 

And  lohat  of  Ishmael's  influence  in  the  West? 

Nothing!  European  historians  have  written  since  his 
time  ivithout  saying  a  ivord  ahout  him.  One  of  them  who 
devotes  long  chapters  to  accounts  of  the  homhardment  of 
Alexandria,  the  battle  of  Tel-el-Kehir,  the  craven  flight  of 
Arahi  and  his  theatrical  scene  with  the  Khedive  in  Ahdeen 
Square,  and  yet  other  chapters  to  the  huilding  of  the  As- 
souan Dam  and  the  construction  of  the  Cape  to  Cairo  rail- 
way, dismisses  Ishmael's  pilgrimage  from  Khartoum  in  five 
lines  of  a  section  dealing  with  "  Mahdism  and  Sedition  in 
the  Soudan." 

And  indeed,  so  hard  do  we  find  it,  in  spite  of  our  civilisa- 
tion and  Christianity,  to  believe  that  the  things  of  the  spirit 
may  be  more  helpful  in  sustaining  our  steps  and  shaping 
our  destinies  than  any  forces  we  can  weigh.,  measure,  and 
calculate,  that  it  is  difficult  to  thinlc  of  any  real  welcome 
in  the  cities  of  the  West  for  one  whose  only  teaching  was 
that  great  wealth  is  an  inheritance  tahen  by  force  from  the 
Almighty,  that  property  beyond  the  proper  needs  of  civil- 


EPILOGUE  613 

ised  human  life  is  pillage;  and  that  God  so  loves  the  world 
that  He  will  come  in  person  to  govern  it  and  to  save  man- 
hind  from  its  suffering  and  the  consequences  of  its  sins. 

Certainly  the  mere  thought  of  anyone  holding  these 
opinions,  least  of  all  an  Arab,  the  son  of  a  hoat-huilder,  horn 
on  the  Libyan  Desert,  brought  up  in  the  depths  of  the  Sou- 
dan, educated  in  the  stagnant  schools  of  El  Azhar,  wearing 
sandals  and  a  turban  and  probably  eating  with  his  fingers — 
the  mere  thought  of  such  a  one,  in  the  present  year  of 
grace,  forcing  liis  way  into  the  Cathedrals  and  Parliament 
Houses  of  Westminster,  Washington,  Rome,  Berlin,  and 
Paris,  where  Archbishops  officiate  in  embroidered  copes 
and  Ministers  prepare  budgets  toward  the  re-paganization 
of  the  world,  would  at  least  provoke  a  smile. 

Nevertheless,  there  are  some  who  thinh  that  the  world 
is  not  ruled  by  its  great  men,  but  by  its  great  ideas,  that 
these  ideas  are  few  and  very  old;  that  when  as  humanity 
needs  to  renew  itself  it  has  only  to  go  bach  to  them,  and 
that  it  is  not  so  often  in  the  "  sick  hurry  "  of  civilised  com- 
munities as  out  of  the  calm  solitude  of  the  desert  that  ive 
hear  the  sublime  but  simple  notes  of  the  World's  One  Voice. 


U) 


THE    END 


40 


THE  MASTERPIECE  OF  A  MASTER  MIND. 

The  Prodigal  Son. 

By  Hall  Caine.    i2mo,  Ornamental  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  Prodigal  Son  "  follows  the  lines  of  the  Bible  para- 
ble in  the  principal  incidents,  but  in  certain  important 
particulars  it  departs  from  them.  In  a  most  convincing 
way,  and  with  rare  beauty,  the  story  shows  that  Christ's 
parable  is  a  picture  of  heavenly  mercy,  and  not  of  human 
justice,  and  if  it  were  used  as  an  example  of  conduct  among 
men  it  would  destroy  all  social  conditions  and  disturb  ac- 
cepted laws  of  justice.  The  book  is  full  of  movement  and 
incident,  and  must  appeal  to  the  public  by  its  dramatic 
story  alone.  The  Prodigal  Son  at  the  close  of  the  book 
has  learned  this  great  lesson,  and  the  meaning  of  the  parable 
is  revealed  to  him.  Neither  success  nor  fame  can  ever  wipe 
out  the  evil  of  the  past.  It  is  not  from  the  unalterable  laws 
of  nature  and  life  that  forgiveness  can  be  hoped  for. 

■'  Since  '  The  Manxman '  Hall  Caine  has  written  nothing  so  moving 
in  its  elements  of  pathos  and  tragedy,  so  plainly  marked  with  the  power 
to  search  the  human  heart  and  reveal  its  secret  springs  of  strength  and 
weakness,  its  passion  and  strife,  so  sincere  and  satisfying  as  'The  Prodi- 
gal Son.'  " — Neiu  York  Times. 

"  It  is  done  with  supreme  self-confidence,  and  the  result  is  a  work 
of  genius." — A^e7v  York  Evening  Post. 

"  '  The  Prodigal  Son'  will  hold  the  reader's  attention  from  cover  to 
cover." — Philadelphia  Record. 

"  This  is  one  of  Hall  Caine's  best  novels — one  that  a  large  portion 
of  the  fiction-reading  public  will  thoroughly  enjoy." 

—  Chicago  Record-Herald. 
"It  is  a  notable  piece  of  fiction." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 
"  In  '  The  Prodigal  Son'  Hall  Caine  has  produced  his  greatest  work.'' 

— Boston  Herald. 

"  Mr.  Caine  has  achieved  a  work  of  extraordinary  merit,  a  fiction  as 
finely  conceived,  as  deftly  constructed,  as  some  of  the  best  work  of  our 
living  novelists." — London  Daily  Mail. 

"  '  The  Prodigal  Son '  is  indeed  a  notable  novel ;  and  a  work  that 
may  certainly  rank  with  the  best  of  recent  fiction.  .  .  ." 

—  Westminster  Gazette, 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


NOVELS  BY  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS. 


SPECIAL  MESSENGER.     Illustrated.     J2mo.     Cloth,  $i.50. 
A  romantic  love  storj'  of  a  woman  spy  in  the  Civil  War. 

THE  FIRING  UNE.     Illustrated.     J2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  taleis  rich  in  vivid  descriptions,  pleasing  incidents,  effective  situations, 
human  interest  and  luxurious  scenic  effects.     It  is  a  story  to  be  remembered." 

—  Grand  Rapids  Herald. 

THE  YOUNGER  SET.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  Younger  Set"  is  a  novel  of  the  swirl  of  wealthy  New  York  society. 
The  hero,  forced  out  of  the  army  by  domestic  troubles,  returns  to  New  York 
homeless  and  idle.  He  finds  a  beautiful  girl  who  promises  ideal  happiness. 
But  new  complications  intervene  and  are  described  with  what  the  New  York 
Sun  calls  Mr.  Chambers'  "amazing  knack  of  narrative." 

THE  FIGHTING  CHANCE.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

One  of  the  most  brilliant  pictures  of  wealthy  American  society  ever  painted; 
one  of  the  most  interesting  and  appealing  stories  ever  written  ;  one  of  the  most 
■widely  read  of  all  American  novels. 

SOME  LADIES  IN  HASTE.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

Mr.  Chambers  has  written  most  delightfully,  and  in  his  charming  satire 
depicts  the  plight  of  five  society  girls  and  five  clubmen. 

lOLE.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Think  of  eight  pretty  girls  in  pink  silk  pajamas  and  sunbonnets,  brought 
up  in  innocence  in  a  scientific  Eden,  with  a  'House  Beautiful'  in  the  back- 
ground, and  a  poetical  father  in  the  foreground.  Think  again  of  those  rose- 
petalled  creations  turned  loose  upon  New  York  .society  and  then  enjoy  the  fun 
of  it  all  in  '  lole.'  "—Boston  Herald. 

THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS.    Illustrated.    Qoth,  $1.50. 

The  captivating  account  of  the  strangely  absorbing  adventures  of  a  "matri- 
monial sleuth,"  "a  deputy  of  Cupid." 

"Compared  with  him  Sherlock  Holmes  is  clumsy  and  without  human 
emotions. " — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

THE  TREE  OF  HEAVEN.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50, 

If  you  looked  squarely  into  a  mirror  and  saw  your  PROFILE  instead  of 
your  full  face,  if  you  suddenly  found  yourself  25  ?niles  away  from  yourself, 
you  would  be  in  one  of  the  tantalizing  situations  that  give  fascination  to  this 
charming  book. 

THE  RECKONING.    Illustrated.     Goth,  $1.50. 

A  story  of  northern  New  York  during  the  last  fierce  fights  between  Tories 
and  Revolutionaries  and  the  Iroquois  Indians,  by  which  tribe  the  hero  had 
been  adopted. 

"  It  would  be  but  an  unresponsive  American  that  would  not  thrill  to  such 
relations." — New  York  Times. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 

433 


BOOKS  BY  DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 


The  Fashionable  Adventures  of  Joshua  Craig 

The  story  of  a  strong,  virile  personality,  set  among  the  frothy  super- 
ficialities of  society  life  in  Washing^ton.  Joshua  Craig  is  a  young  lawyer  who 
is  striving  to  make  a  name  for  himself  in  national  politics.  He  is  big,  rough, 
and  crude,  repelling  and  yet  compelling.  He  fights  quite  as  hard  to  gain  the 
love  of  a  lady  as  he  does  to  attain  his  coveted  political  goal. 

Illustrated  by  A.  B.  JVenzelL     121110,  cloth,  ^J'-JO 

Old  Wives  for  New 

A  daring  title.  The  story  is  just  as  daring,  but  nevertheless  it  rings  true. 
It  is  a  frank  and  faithful  picture  of  married  life  as  it  exists  to-day  among  cer- 
tain classes  in  this  country.  It  is  the  story  of  a  young  couple  who  loved  as 
others  do,  but  whose  love  turns  to  indifference,  and  Mr.  Phillips  shows  us  why 
their  married  life  was  a  failure. 

j2mo,  cloth,  $1.^0 

The  Second  Generation 

It  is  a  double-decked  romance,  telling  the  love  stories  of  a  young  man 
and  his  sister,  both  reared  in  great  extravagance  and  suddenly  left  without 
means  by  their  father,  who,  being  a  self-made  man  has  come  to  feel  that  his 
wealth  has  been  a  curse  to  his  children,  and  would  prove  their  ruination  if  left 
to  them.  The  young  man  and  the  young  woman  find  life  very  hard  sledding 
for  a  time,  but  gain  strength  and  courage  and  make  a  good  fight  for  love, 
happiness,  and  life. 

Illustrated,  izmo,  ornamental  cover  in  colors  inlaid,  $i.jo 

Light-Fingered  Gentry 

In  this  story  Mr.  Phillips  has  chosen  the  inside  workings  of  the  great 
insurance  companies  as  his  field  of  battle  ;  the  salons  of  the  great  Fifth  Avenue 
mansions  as  the  antechambers  of  his  field  of  intrigue ;  and  the  two  things 
which  every  natural  big  man  desires,  love  and  success,  as  the  goal  of  his  lead- 
ing character. 

Illustrated,  ornamental  cloth,  S^-JO 

The  Worth  of  a  Woman — A  Play 

"It  is  a  remarkable  piece  of  work,  showing  keen,  logical  thought,  a 
daring  rush  to  conclusions,  a  bold  and  sportsmanlike  grip  of  an  ugly  problem. 
I  admire  the  pluck  of  this  author." — A/an  Dale  in  the  N.  Y.  American. 

i2mo,  cloth,  $1.2^  net 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK 

444 


TWO   GOOD    NOVELS. 


Cy  Whittaker's  Place. 

A  Novel  of  Cape  Cod  Life,  by  Joseph  C. 
Lincoln,  Author  of  "  Mr.  Pratt,"  "  Cap'n  Eri,"  etc. 
2"]  illustrations  by  Wallace  Morgan,  colored  inlay 
on  cover.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

Cape  Cod  life,  as  pictured  by  Joseph  C.  Lincoln,  is  de- 
lightful in  its  homeliness,  its  wholesomeness,  its  quaint  sim- 
plicity. The  plot  of  this  novel  revolves  around  a  little  girl 
•whom  an  old  bachelor,  Cy  Whittaker,  adopts.  Her  educa- 
tion is  too  stupendous  a  task  for  the  old  man  to  attempt  alone, 
so  he  calls  in  two  old  cronies  and  they  form  a  *'  Board 
of  Strategy."  A  dramatic  story  of  unusual  merit  then  de- 
velops, and  through  it  all  runs  that  rich  vein  of  humor  which 
has  won  for  the  author  a  fixed  place  in  the  hearts  of  thousands 
of  readers.     Cy  Whittaker  is  the  David  Harum  of  Cape  Cod. 

The  "Whispering  Man. 

A  Detective  Story  Worth  While,  by  Henry 
KiTCHELL  Webster.  Frontispiece.  i2mo.  Deco- 
rated cloth,  $1.50. 

A  detective  story  you  ought  to  read.  Something  alto- 
gether different  in  that  the  clues  to  the  mystery  lie  open  to 
the  reader  throughout  the  whole  story,  and  are  yet  so  con- 
cealed that  the  unsuspecting  reader  is  amazed  at  the  outcome. 
To  those  who  have  tired  of  the  ordinary  type  of  detective 
story,  we  commend  this  different  novel  as  most  refreshing. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,    NEW     YORK. 

432 


By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS. 


The  Firing  Line. 

Illustrated  by  Will  Foster.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

In  this  rare,  strange  story,  Mr.  Chambers  en- 
trances us  with  the  exotic  life  oi  Palm  Beach,  Florida. 
We  see  the  lights  at  America's  greatest  playground 
as  clearly  as  if  we  were  there.  We  become  ac- 
quainted with  its  actors.  We  feel  and  see  as  they 
do.  We  learn  to  respect  Malcourt,  the  villain,  and 
to  love  Shiela,  whose  love  story  follows  the  tempest- 
uous scenes  to  the  Adirondacks,  and  we  are  there 
mystified  as  they  so  weirdly  enter  the  world  of  the 
occult. 

"  The  book  sparkles  with  bright  comedy,  beautiful  de- 
scriptions of  outdoor  life,  and  mirrors  to  better  satisfaction 
than  anything  heretofore  from  his  pen  the  author's  remark- 
able characteristics  and  good  qualities." — The  Boston  Globe. 

"  Mr.  Chambers  is  a  great  novel  writer,  with  a  fame 
throughout  the  English-speaking  world.  Yet  we  do  not 
think  that  he  has  done  anything  so  powerful,  so  vivid,  so 
strong,  as  his  writing  in  this  novel." — Salt  Lake  Tribune. 

"From  the  vivid  opening  of  the  first  chapter  to  the  vivid 
close  of  the  last  there  is  no  moment  when  character  is  not 
being  tested  in  the  crucible  of  circumstances  ....  it  is  a 
warm,  full-blooded  tale  of  American  life  and  love." 

— Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Indeed,  there  rarely  has  been  collected  in  any  story 
such  a  fascinating  company  as  these  who  take  part  in  the 
battle  of  love  on  '  The  Firing  Line.'  " 

—  The  Transcript,  Boston,  Mass. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  his  many  good 
books." — Cleveland  Leader. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,    NEW     YORK. 


AN    UNUSUAL   NOVEL. 


Old  Wives  for  New. 

By  David  Graham  Phillips.  i2mo.  Cloth, 
$1.50. 

The  title  of  Mr.  Phillips'  new  novel  is  a  daring 
one.  The  story  itself  is  just  as  daring,  but  never- 
theless it  rings  true.  It  is  a  frank  and  faithful 
picture  of  married  life  as  it  exists  to-day  among  the 
prosperous  classes  of  this  country.  It  is  the  story 
of  a  young  couple  who  loved  as  others  do,  but 
whose  love  turns  to  indifference,  and  Mr.  Phillips 
shows  us  why  their  married  life  was  a  failure. 

"  Things  about  women  which  have  never  seen  the  light 
of  day  before." — S^.  Faul  Pioneer  Press. 

"  Comes  near  being  a  second  Balzac." 

— Los  Angeles  Times. 

"  One  of  the  most  thoroughly  interesting  books  that 
has  been  written  in  many  a  long  month." 

— St.  Louis  Republic. 

D.  APPLET  ON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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